


still water

by stereonightss



Series: Still Water [1]
Category: Yu-Gi-Oh! Duel Monsters (Anime & Manga)
Genre: Actual dueling, Aged up characters, Coming Out, DSOD, Egyptian religion, F/M, M/M, Magic, Major Illness, Multi, drunk kaiba, duellinks, plana, post-dsod, prana - Freeform, psychedelics, scifi, slowburn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-01-15
Updated: 2019-09-11
Packaged: 2019-10-10 10:27:59
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 23
Words: 78,280
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17424158
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stereonightss/pseuds/stereonightss
Summary: Visions of the afterlife are finding their way into the dreams of two men whose destinies have been bound for three thousand years. What will they have to do to make sense of these dreams?





	1. Chapter 1

The desert wind lifted his hair, cool fingers of air tuning along his sweat-dampened scalp. He had trained for this launch on an astronaut’s program, and still the soft suck of the sand step after step made his calves burn. The sun was hot on his skin, on his leather-clad legs, but it wasn’t oppressive. He felt gilt, heated from the inside out by the kiss of this unnaturally golden light. It was a bracing light, it felt like the touch of his mother’s hand between his shoulder blades in that similarly gilt memory from long ago.

A spire peeked up from the horizon and he tightened all over, then forcibly relaxed. It was as close to giddy as he’d ever felt, and he wondered how his body was handling the dimensional shift. It was the prototypical journey of the premier project of his life. The giddy numbness ebbed and he called on his deepest sense of self and felt whole again.

He came upon the wide veranda with its statues and its garden enclaves and for a moment his singular focus was broken by the splendor of it all. He gazed down at his own luminescent body, caught between the familiar scent of palace incense and flowering shrubs and the incongruity of his quantum fiber bodysuit. He felt a liminal melancholy pass over the fire burning up from the base of his spine as he saw through the far entranceway a great hall, and beyond it, cast by the distance in miniature, the throne room.

He passed through one and then another entryway along a splendid carpet until he was in the antechamber where two men in robes appraised him calmly. The one with long hair smiled, said “Seto,” the other one simply nodded, and he felt a deep comfort. He was known here.

The men stepped aside as he walked through, through the final door to the throne room. There, sitting back, straight spine and legs splayed and arms calmly resting so that the throne and the crown and his posture draped the young king in a powerful poise, was Atem.

Atem’s eyes narrowed slightly as one corner of his lips curled gently up. Something crackled inside Seto and he instinctively brought up his disk-bearing arm.

“Kaiba. At last.”

 

****

 

“Nii-sama.”

Mokuba’s disembodied face hovered above him for a moment before the rest of his vision returned to him. Mokuba looked tired, red-eyed and a little disheveled. He’s already outgrowing his suit, Seto thought with a faint smile.

He willed his body up out of the launch pod and swung his long legs around, waiting for a moment for the feeling to return to his feet.

“Obviously, recovery was successful. We found you six miles south of the burial site. No external damage to the launch pod that we can determine yet. Monitoring is functional, we’re downloading the mission data for analysis now.”

That was good news. He was grateful to be alone with Mokuba in the mobile lab of the research jet, though he was sure the entire recovery team must be waiting outside for Mokuba’s word.

“Mission time stamp?” He said with some difficulty.

“Nii-sama, you’ve been gone for five days.”

He checked through his own vitals on the pod’s monitor. He was dehydrated and electrolyte deficient but otherwise healthy. He stood but faltered and Mokuba caught him around the waist. Mokuba helped him down on one knee and held him up by the shoulders. When the ringing in his ears subsided he grabbed his little brother in a fierce hug, something that surprised the both of them.

“Nii-sama.”

“Call Mutou Yugi. Arrange a meeting for when we return to Domino HQ.”

Mokuba smiled into his brother’s wide but trembling shoulders. He made a mental note: Test launch successful.

 

****


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> YuJou, the word that means friendship.

 

The phone rang at Kame Games.

“Mokuba! What a pleasant surprise.”

Sugoroku smiled at the genuine sentiment in his grandson’s voice. The growth and success he saw come so easily to his grandson over the past year was colored by grief that Yugi hid well, but not from him. Sugoroku was glad for every genuine smile that came to that face that was looking older and more tempered by the world every day.

“Yes, of course. That’s fine by me. Yes thank you, I’ll see you then. Please give him my regards.”

Sugoroku was glad—it sounded like Kaiba Corp had a new product for Yugi to test. He balanced his unease at anything having to do with Kaiba by imagining what sales he might make six or eight months from now when whatever it was debuted. Plus, testing new games always seemed to cheer Yugi up, at least while he was actively consulting on it.

“New project?”

“I’m not sure. Mokuba is using confidentiality procedures, I can tell. He sounded drained. It could be a recall.”

Yugi was still looking down at the phone receiver. He had a far-off look in his eyes, and with his head bowed like that Sugoroku knew he was thinking of more than just his consulting job.

“You had another dream about him, didn’t you?”

“Mmm.”

The private but grief-filled smile hit Sugoroku in a deep place.

“It’s inventory day tomorrow. What do you say we close early and get some dinner? The diner has a burger special.We could go pick up the forms for the next round of drafts on the way back.”

Yugi touched him on the shoulder and smiled his opaque closed-eye smile.

“Mokuba has already pre-registered me for the next two quarters of regionals and nationals qualifiers. This silent sponsorship clause is pretty great.”

“Hmmmmmm.” Sugoroku fluffed his beard.

“Plus, Jounouchi is going to come by after work later, I think we’re going to test our auxiliary decks tonight.” Sugoroku just looked at him with a slight frown and Yugi added,

“Jii-chan, I’m fine. Really!” And then smiled a genuine smile.

“Okay, okay. Well why don’t you go on along either way. I can finish up here.”

“Thank you, Jii-chan.”

Yugi went upstairs to change. He flopped down on his bed and looked up at the angled ceiling, where he’d tacked his last four tournament ribbons and some pictures of his friends. There was one group photo in the middle of him with all of his closest friends, only it wasn’t him, it was him. His hand hovered over his stomach by reflex, an empty space where the puzzle used to be. He sighed, forced a smile to his face and rolled over. He buried his face in his pillow and thought about screaming, just to blow off some steam. He was feeling bluer than usual after last night’s dream, and from the sound of Mokuba’s voice they would have a lot of work to do coming up.

He liked his job at Kaiba Corp. He made enough money between tournament prizes and working at the shop to get by, but on top of Kaiba’s generous salary and the myriad perks of being a KC Sponsored Duelist—their premier sponsored duelist—he really did enjoy testing out all the games and technology they threw at him in R & D. Pro dueling was a condition of his contract, which Kaiba had hand delivered to him not long after the battle with Diva.

Kaiba had stood there, obstinate but quiet, arms folded across his chest, height and breadth of shoulders and ostentatious white coat taking up an inordinate amount of space in Kame Games while Yugi read and then signed the lengthy contract.

He’d given Yugi a modest budget and access to design and fabrication resources to produce his own games. It was the foundation Yugi had been looking for, a chance to make something new to give to the world, to make people happy.

“Yugi, you’re the only duelist in the world who can beat me in my current state. I haven’t forgotten that. Until the time comes to settle our rivalry, you fight for me now. I expect you to help me change the flow of history.”

Yugi had grown to trust his powerful instincts, and his instincts told him to work with Kaiba. The distraction of meeting Kaiba’s great expectations had gotten him through the difficulty of separation from—his other self.

He’d also been given lifetime access to the complete library of KC educational resources. This was a perk of his short but apparently pivotal input into the structure and curriculum of the near-completed Duel Academy. He was using his access to learn some computer programming and some foreign languages. He tried out Greek, Aramaic, Coptic and Demotic—the latter two being the only one he seemed to have a real aptitude for, whatever that meant.

He wanted to read ancient religious texts. He never thought of himself as book smart, but languages and ancient poems were puzzles, and puzzles were his specialty.

“Yoooo, Yugi!” Jounouchi called from downstairs.

“Come on up!” He yelled down. He hopped up and grabbed his deck case, then went down to the living room to meet Jounouchi.

They bumped fists and grinned, then plopped down on the couch. Jounouchi pulled a six pack of cans out of his bag.

“Hehe, special delivery.” He said, tossing Yugi a can.

“Where did you get these!” Yugi said, looking around sheepishly before he cracked a can, even though he knew no one else was home.

“I figured you could use one. Or two, or three, right?” Jounouchi said, cracking his own.

They clinked cans and took long sips and then sighed in unison, and Jounouchi plopped his socked feet up on the coffee table.

“I’m so beat, I can’t believe it’s only Wednesday.” He said.

“You working doubles the next four days again?”

Jounouchi took a long swig and nodded. “I’m gonna pay my registration fees for this quarter up front this time. I think it’ll be easier that way.”

“I’m seeing Mokuba tomorrow, I’ll talk to him about getting you sponsored if you want.”

“Aaaaaabsolutely not. If I’m going to make it to nationals this year, it’s not going to have anything to do with Kaiba. No. I’m going to do it by my own hands like I always have.”

“Jounouchi.”

Jounouchi punched him on the shoulder and grinned. “But thank you, Yugi. So what’s up, they have another game for you to run?”

“I’m not sure. I’ll find out tomorrow.” Yugi said, detached.

They sipped in silence for a moment. Jounouchi looked over to see Yugi with his head leaned back against the couch, eyes unfocused pointing at the ceiling above.

“Hey…you seem out of it. You didn’t have the dream again, did you?”

Yugi fidgeted with the tab on his beer can. “Not the same one. But yeah, I saw him in my dream again.”

“Well? Did he say anything?”

“No, nothing. Just like last time.” Yugi let out a long sigh and sat up. “He was standing on the other side of the river, but he was in the water this time, up to his ankles. He had his crown in his hand, but it was on his head too. And he had his other hand stretched out to me.”

“Wild!”

“I tried to walk down to the edge of the water but my feet got stuck in the mud again. I was yelling for him but no sound came out. He was smiling at me,but he was quiet too. I don’t know what it means but I felt weird all day afterwards.”

“You sure it isn’t those nutritional supplements you’re taking? Like maybe you’re being poisoned like a lab rat by that big crazy—”

“Jounouchi!” Yugi kicked his friend in the calf, but he laughed. “It’s just vitamins. It’s part of the phase-II Duel Links test procedure, we’re trying to roll out a commercially viable option in the next six months.”

“Creeps me out. How’s it been over there?”

“It’s been really good, honestly. Kaiba has some secret project he’s working on, it keeps him mostly occupied. The few tests we ran together were fun…for me. It’s hard to tell with him but I think he enjoys them too.”

“Who cares if he likes it as long as he signs your check,” Jounouchi mumbled into his beer can so he wouldn’t have to meet Yugi’s exasperated half-frown.

“I have a feeling it’s going to be a long day tomorrow though.”

“You and me both man.” At that they both took good long swigs.

“Aaaaah. Let’s get to it, eh, Yugi?” Jounouchi said, and his roguish grin warmed Yugi to the core. Fired up and half full of beer, he jumped up to grab his deck case and plopped down on the other side of the coffee table.

“Let’s go!”

And together they said, “Duel!”


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mokuba is a cancer, and cancers are caretakers.

Yugi swiped himself into Kaiba Corp HQ’s east elevator bay around 8:30. The ding of the elevator as it admitted him sounded particularly loud to him this morning, and why did it feel so early?

“Oh, Yugi!” Mokuba smiled broadly when he entered the elevator half way up the impossibly tall building that was Kaiba Corp HQ. He had three coffees in a tray and a bag of pastries in his hands, and he handed one of the drinks to Yugi.

“Oh god, thank you.”

“Haha, long night last night?”

Yugi just smiled over the coffee cup as he sipped.

They exited the elevator together and walked down the long corridor that led to Kaiba’s office. Mokuba talked animatedly about the projects he was heading, some new attractions in Kaiba Land Los Angeles, a new expansion set for CapMon. Yugi had grown so fond of Mokuba over the last year, but the echoing click of the younger man’s fine Italian shoes against the white marble of the floor made Yugi wonder why the hallway had to be so damn long.

It was lined with tournament cups, prototypes, statues of the Blue Eyes White Dragon in its various forms. Yugi cursed the ample skylight in his mind and nursed his coffee, then ducked ahead to open the door for Mokuba who still had his hands full.

Yugi was always a little impressed, no matter how many times he entered Kaiba’s office. It was huge, encased in floor-to-ceiling glass on three sides, offering a view of all of Domino city. Everything was white, the floors, the desk, the couch, Kaiba’s chair.

Kaiba’s brooding presence was amplified in this bright environment, black turtleneck and black leather pants and boots and dark hair and bright and intense eyes almost backlit in the plush white leather. He was sitting with his legs crossed, his arms folded across his chest. Yugi thought he looked elegantly folded when sitting, long limbs tucked like a spider’s legs, curled like a scorpion’s tail in a kind of geometric repose. He had a respect for Kaiba that flourished the more both men came into their own. Kaiba grew more regal, less cruel as he unburdened himself from his tumultuous past. His dynasty had unfolded here and around the world, and lately it seemed to Yugi that he had reached a turning point with what Yugi knew he considered his inherited debt of sin.

But today Yugi sensed an unfamiliar cast to Kaiba’s posture. Kaiba seemed distracted, eyes not quite focused on the room around him.

“Morning, Nii-sama! I brought donuts!”

Kaiba nodded a greeting at the both of them. He unfolded one of his arms and reached into a side drawer to withdraw a packet of liquid nutritional supplement. “Thank you Mokuba. You and Yugi help yourselves.”

“So! What are we working on today?” Yugi said, grabbing a donut.

Kaiba didn’t answer him right away. He simply stared at him with an intensity so palpable that Yugi swallowed with difficulty and set the donut back down.

“Mokuba, could I have a moment with Yugi?”

“Sure thing. I’ll be in my office!” Mokuba chirped, and left the two men alone. The office door clicked shut heavily behind him.

“Yugi.”

Yugi began to feel uncomfortable. He became overly aware of the size of the office, of a piece of lint on his pants, of the way his choker pressed into his adam’s apple as he swallowed, unsure of what to say. Was he in trouble? Kaiba was staring at him with a heavy intensity, and the two locked eyes. Yugi’s instincts as a duelist had only grown in the time since he was freed of the puzzle, and his spine straightened as he met Kaiba’s gaze.

Kaiba didn’t seem to know what to say either. He steepled his fingers, touching both index fingers to his forehead, pressed his eyes shut.

“I saw him. I spoke with him.”

“Kaiba, I—”

“With Atem.”

Yugi felt instantly drained. He fell back against the chair.

“I managed to use the items we recovered from our encounter with Diva to—”

“You saw him? You went to him?” Yugi’s head was swimming. Kaiba gave him a moment to process. “How did you…? How do I—”

Kaiba stood, unfurling all six feet of himself in a fluid and beautiful and dangerous motion. Yugi couldn’t help but feel that he was different somehow.

“You’ll have to work with me. I have no doubts about your ability to dimension, but the physical conditioning to withstand the launch procedures will take some time. Here.”

Kaiba slid him a white folder with his personal data profile followed by the outline of a training regimen.

Yugi skimmed through it. “Kaiba, I can’t—”

“You will. We start in thirty minutes. There’s a facility on the 18th floor, go to the locker with your name on it and get changed. I’ll meet you in the training area.”

 

****

 

Yugi’s brow was furrowed the whole time he removed all his belts and jewelry. He placed his boots at the bottom of the locker, then the belts. He set his bracelets and the one earring he’d gotten with Jounouchi on his last birthday up on the high shelf, then hung his shirt from a hook in the back. His head hurt. He reached for the clothes hanging there for him, a close fitting track suit of a soft synthetic material streaked through with thin wires and a series of electrodes. His name was embroidered on the tags of both articles of clothing. There was a pair of running shoes in his size. How did he know. But then Yugi realized it’s pointless to wonder how Kaiba knows anything.

Confusion gave way to excitement, then to apprehension, then to a delirious joy. He thought of his dream, of being able to speak to Atem like Kaiba had, like he had been trying to do for months, ever since they spoke in their wordless way after vanquishing ring for a second time.

He walked into the open training area, which had exercise equipment on one end, monitoring devices and a large digital work station in the middle, and two of what Yugi recognized as the prototype to a Duel Links II pod and headset.

“The first few weeks will be focused on physical conditioning. We will have access to an aeronotics training lab during the second phase. We’ll be testing the limits of the Duel Links quantum cloud on our physical and psychological stamina during both phases.”

Kaiba’s voice came from behind, and Yugi turned around to face him. He held out a kettlebell to Yugi, and Yugi was surprised by the heft of it.

“Don’t hurt yourself. I didn’t plan time for recovery from injuries.” Kaiba smirked and Yugi just shook his head a little and smiled.

“I’ll do my best.”

“You’ll do better than that. Ten swings, ten overhead presses, ten lunges, then the same on the other side.”

Yugi began in earnest. He intermittently glanced at Kaiba to see what to do. The exercises were basic but he knew that if his form was off he would be wasting his effort.

“Watch the angle of your hips. Keep your shoulders square. Like this.”

Kaiba took up a heavier weight and demonstrated. Yugi tried to absorb the form, but he was distracted by Kaiba’s jaw flexing, the thick cords of lean muscle in his neck and forearms twisting as he worked through each movement with a fluid but ultimately practiced grace. Yugi distracted himself from the burning in his legs with some idle speculation at the kinds of storms that raged behind Kaiba’s deep blue eyes.

Kaiba stepped aside so Yugi could try again. It was with some satisfaction that he noticed at last the change that had overcome Yugi in the year since their fight with the Plana. A few inches taller, some pounds heavier, Yugi had the hint of a five o’clock shadow now. With Atem, resplendent, fresh in Kaiba’s mind, it should have been easy to pick out the differences between the two.

Sweat was beading on Yugi’s forehead, but his lip was curled in determination as he breathed quietly through his mouth. Kaiba was pleased with his performance, though he knew it came more from determination than from physical ability, and when he called a break the smaller man flopped onto his back on the floor, panting softly. 

With his arms tucked behind his head, one leg bent, eyes focused on an invisible point on the ceiling, Yugi looked cocky. Kaiba imagined him four shades darker and in this pose it would be hard to tell them apart. Yugi’s hand came up to hover above his solar plexus before thoughtfully lowering down to his side. Kaiba could see the burgeoning angularity in his limbs, saw the sheen of sweat accentuate the peek of Atem’s high cheekbones beneath Yugi’s deep flush and the very last remnants of baby fat, and he experienced a painful deja-vu.

He grabbed two electrolyte supplements from the fridge in the wall and tossed one at Yugi. It hit his hand with a loud smack, and Kaiba smirked despite himself at the speed of Yugi’s reaction. He was a late bloomer, but he had finally begun to bloom.

“Thank you.” Said the ever-friendly voice.

They drank, Kaiba standing with his shoulder against the wall, Yugi sitting half-up on the ground. Kaiba wondered what he would have to do to push Yugi to rage. Could he even, at this point? He reached down to offer Yugi his hand, and pulled the smaller man up with ease.

“The next exercise is one in coordination. We may have to execute some synchronized moves during the launch sequence. These exercises will build a report should we break from the guidance AI.” Kaiba handed Yugi a headpiece and slim gauntlet, black with a smooth red crystal in the middle.

“Dimension disk?” Yugi said, turning over the gauntlet before slipping it on.

“This equipment is still a prototype, so I’ll be connecting the monitor to your bodysuit.”

Yugi was still getting his headpiece to fit comfortably when he felt Kaiba gently slide his fingers between his’s left arm and his ribs, pressing a terminal wire to an electrode in the suit. Kaiba’s hands were at the back of his neck then, brushing up his hair to plug another wire in at the collar. Yugi’s skin sung with the touch and he felt goosebumps rising along the backs of his arms. One long hand touched the side of his thigh lightly and then retracted, and Yugi looked down to see the last wire in place.

By the time he felt the heat in his cheeks dissipate Kaiba was done connecting his own bodysuit to the nearby monitor, and the two stood facing one another.

Kaiba opened a drawer and brought out a deck of Duel Monsters cards.

“But my deck is in the locker!” Yugi said.

Kaiba barked a laugh.

“You’re nowhere near ready to duel me through a full neural synch.” He swiped a command into the digital holo display that he’d brought up from the desk’s edge. “Ready?”

Yugi barely had time to nod before Kaiba swept the command up and away, fingers curled like a Balinese dancer. Flashy, Yugi thought. Incorrigible. 

Both men jolted when the synch hit. Yugi was thrown into immediate confusion, sound roaring in his ears. His limbs hummed, his pulse surged in his neck. He could feel his heart beating wildly and he started to feel nauseous.

“Breathe!” Kaiba said, and the sound his voice was like a fist blow.

Yugi breathed. His eyes met Kaiba’s and he saw the uneven rise and fall of the other man’s chest in his peripheral vision. Kaiba intentionally slowed his breathing and Yugi followed suit, until both were breathing deeply and evenly. His pulse wound down into a syncopated rhythm, and he saw the blood pulsing in Kaiba’s sweat-slick neck on every other beat. The rhythm tripped itself even again and with some wonder he realized their pulses had synched.

He felt strange. He felt thrust into a sapphire abyss, like a star, like a meteor, supremely alone but radiant. He was hit by surges of chaotic emotions, contradictory feelings piling on top of each other and then on him, gone almost as soon as they had arrived. He felt a deep unutterable sadness and he almost sobbed, but Kaiba’s intense gaze kept him breathing evenly. He felt a rush of heat from his feet up to his head and he surged inside with a sense of power and clarity. He lifted his chin, his shoulders rolled back. He extended one arm, palm up, in front of him.

Kaiba had mirrored him. There was a rawness to Kaiba’s wide-eyed expression, his hand reaching out toward Yugi in a gesture of open need. Kaiba felt strangely swaddled, pressed in on all sides by an unseen gentle hand. He was thrown into the memory of his mother wrapping him in a freshly-dried quilt, the smell of her perfume and food cooking in the distance and the warm press of clean laundry. He hard Mokuba’s laughter trickle down a great hall to his ears, reverberations sweeter as they died out. He felt utterly broken open, a vicious vulnerability rocketing him down into his deepest feelings. He felt the sense-memory of a hundred victories’ worth of match-winning calls, the sound of Yugi’s—no, his—voice close behind. He felt a shame-tinged pleasure at the memory of celebrating with them all, feeling at one with them all when the pharaoh had risen victorious against Zorc. He felt a treacherous heat as he stared at Yugi, standing so confidently before him, a welcome in his open palm, looking so much like him.

Their senses and their memories and their thoughts swirled in wordless flux between them, but after about two minutes each gradually returned to possession of himself.

Kaiba steadied himself and reached between them, drawing a card. He glanced at it, and then at Yugi.

“Vorse raider,” Yugi said. Kaiba drew another. “Battle ox,” Yugi said almost before Kaiba had finished drawing. He drew again.

Yugi grinned and said with a relish bordering on the carnal “Blue-eyes White Dragon.”

Seeing Yugi’s eyes flash with pride and desire as the treasured name formed on his lips confused and goaded Kaiba. He pushed the deck toward Yugi, a prickling disgust chasing the flash of tightness in his groin.

Yugi drew a card and smiled, closing his eyes like he was acknowledging a private joke.

“Polymerization,” Kaiba said, and the screen next to them flashed a warning. He swiped through two sub screens and the synch cut off, leaving them both panting. “That’s enough for today.”

He began to detach the wires from his bodysuit.

“Why did you stop it?” Yugi said, sounding disappointed to Kaiba’s ringing ears.

“We were entering a feedback loop. Our autonomous nervous system was becoming overexcited. We’ll have to train more to control limbic function.”

“We’re supposed to duel like this?”

Kaiba considered him. “You know that not everything is about dueling right?” He laughed at Yugi’s wrinkled brow. “But yes, it’s my intention to develop this technology for dueling.”

“What’s the point of dueling someone when you can read their mind?”

Kaiba scoffed.

“Ridiculous. That wasn’t mind reading. It was an amplification of our collective perception of reality. Reality is a composite made up of the perceptions of all conscious beings. I could explain quantum mechanics to you, but we hardly have the time. You merely tasted more of my particular perception of reality than you normally do.”

Yugi didn’t say anything. He was suddenly shrunken, shoulders rounded, almost folding in on himself. Kaiba was embarrassed at how angry it made him to see Yugi close up like that.

“If I hadn’t cut it off, you would have gone into cardiac arrest.”

Yugi sighed, then flashed Kaiba an opaque and carefully composed smile.

“It’s very impressive technology, Kaiba.”

Kaiba recoiled as though Yugi had insulted him. “Impressive?” Frustrated, he said “What’s wrong with you?”

Yugi threaded his fingers into his own wild hair. He felt bad. Sometimes he forgot how sensitive Kaiba could be.

“Sensing your feelings…hearing a voice in the back of my mind whisper your thoughts. It felt like being with him again. The other me.”

Kaiba seemed to be weighing each word.

“It made me a little sad, is all. I haven't felt that way in a long time.” He smiled again, this time for real.

“You’ll have another opportunity to get used to it. We meet again tomorrow at 7.”


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jounouchi the honest, not even fit to wash plates.

“…and then I told them if that’s the way they felt about it, that they should kiss my nationally-ranked ass.”

“Jounouchi! You did not!”

Jounouchi looked sheepish, then immediately pleased with himself. “I did.”

Yugi giggled. He would never say it in quite the same way, but he was exasperated by people who didn’t respect competitive dueling too.

“Well what are you going to do now?”

“Ehhhhh, I don’t know. I can cover tomorrow’s qualifiers with what’s in my pocket, but I’ll have to look for something new as soon as possible.”

The two took bites of their burgers and munched from the same bag of fries.

“So what are you working on over at Krazy Corp?” Jounouchi said.

“I don’t even know if I can tell you,” Yugi sighed. “It was intense though. I have a feeling I saw into a side of Kaiba that nobody knows.”

“Sorry to hear that,” Jounouchi said, and Yugi kicked him under the table.

“I hear Mai is going to be there.” Yugi said, watching Jounouchi for a reaction.

Jounouchi grew serious for a second, then ran his hand through his hair. He flashed Yugi a smile.

“Guess I better wear my good shirt then, huh?”

Yugi groaned. “That reminds me. I have to attend the gala after. It’s part of my contract.”

“Think of all the food that’ll be there. It’s a KC event so you know there’s an open bar.”

“I know, I would just rather hang out with you guys.”

They joked and talked the whole way back to Yugi’s house, then spent a few hours honing their decks. Three test duels later, with Yugi beating Jounouchi 2 to 1, and they were both starting to sense the gravity of the next day’s qualifiers. This was the first obstacle between them and World Championships. They were seeded in separate divisions so they wouldn’t have to face one another this stage. Jounouchi clapped Yugi on the back and promised to meet him in the next round. Yugi saw him out, then sleepily made his way back to his room.

He flopped down on his bed, trying to quiet his inner thoughts. He always meditated before matches. He held within himself a growing network of rooms he could go to when he needed to focus, the rooms of his heart. He began his practice by relaxing all of his limbs, then drew his focus back to his breathing.

He imagined himself there at the threshold, a long dark hallway. Before him on one side, a series of doors, each of them leading to a place of focus, of somatic memory. Behind him, where he seldom turned any more, the sealed door with its relief carved eye.

He noticed a new door, but it gave him a tugging sense of déjà vu, as though he had seen it before. He put a hand on the doorknob, began to turn—

His breath hitched. Instead of his usual visualizations, he saw Kaiba in his mind’s eye, tall and dark above him with blue eyes blazing. He felt the unearthly depth of feeling that had overcome him while they were synched together. His guts cramped with the hit of raw physical need. He felt hot all over, restless, tight like a mouse trap, like a drawn rubber band. He was suddenly achingly hard.

He bolted upright.

“Ughhh.”

He cradled his head until he could calm down. He sighed, then cautiously tiptoed out of his room to go get a glass of water. He changed his mind half way and went to go splash water on his face instead.

“Get a hold of yourself,” he said to his reflection in the bathroom mirror. He leaned heavily against the sink, willing himself to calm down. He softened the muscles in his face, tried to relax his tired eyes, when the sight of his own bare feet on the white tile threw him into a memory: a hand on his shoulder, a deep and comforting voice and candlelight on carved and painted limestone, the clear recollection of a painting on papyrus.

This was the kind of moment when he longed for his other self most. A single word of reassurance would have poured relief directly into his soul. He had to find that reassurance on his own now. He went back to his bed.

He thought of the possibility of seeing Atem again. From the mission brief, the technique he and Kaiba would use to transcend realities was dangerous, potentially fatal. But Kaiba had survived a test trip. Kaiba had transcended long enough to speak with Atem, and Kaiba theorized (and Yugi hoped) that together they could amplify one another’s will so they could extend their time in the dimension beyond.

That thought alone focused him. He would see Atem. He would hear his voice again. He wouldn’t be stuck mute on the other side of the river. The thought calmed him and he slipped into a deep sleep.

 

****

 

Kaiba shifted in his sleep, hands clutching at the silver-white silk duvet. He felt a soft breeze, a warm breeze, and smelled musk and sandalwood. Cologne? If it was, it was an expensive one, and it wasn’t one he owned. There was a strong animalistic note, too raw to be synthetic. His eyes opened slowly, and he saw the dark of his ceiling, his bedroom. His vision was a little blurred at the periphery. He raised himself up on one elbow and turned to reach for the glass of water on his bedside table.

That's when he heard the long high call of an exotic bird. He bolted upright, began to step out of bed, and when his bare feet reached the floor he felt…sand.

“Kaiba. You’re awake. Good.”

The familiar voice gave him goosebumps. Kaiba was suddenly hyper-aware of his own nakedness. He tugged out the soft cotton top sheet, folded it over and tied it around his waist. He stood and stepped out from the haze around the bed and into the waiting desert.

“Am I dreaming?” He stepped up to a short wood post, one of about twelve supporting a crude rope enclosure. It was evening—or morning? Atem’s deep mauve eyes seemed to glow in the low light. Kaiba could make out his features enough to see him smirk.

“Nice kilt. It suits you.”

Atem was in a simple white kilt himself, barefoot in the sand. He had a whip in one hand and a section of rope in the other. He looked so bare without his crown and his mantle—without his DuelDisk or DiaDankh. He was wearing only short gold anklets and cuffs around his biceps, a simple gold collar. His impossible hair swayed in the light breeze. His dark skin looked warmly luminous against the white of the sands in the twilit night, and Kaiba was so rapt by the vision that he almost missed the soft sound of shuffling hooves.

At the other end of the enclosure was what Kaiba recognized as a white Arabian horse, cords of lean muscle twisting under the smooth white coat as it stepped back and forth nervously. The thin, black-muzzled face was raised high. It snorted steam into the chill desert air.

“Do you like horses, Kaiba?” Atem asked, letting the whip drop to the ground. The horse pricked its ears and took two steps along the outside of the enclosure.

“I like them well enough.”

Kaiba thought back to the riding lessons he'd had under Gozaburo and struggled to ascribe an identifiable emotion to the experience.

Atem swished the whip in the direction of the horse, and it took off at a gentle trot.

“I love them. I always have, from the time I was a child.”

Atem intermittently swished the whip at the horse, keeping it moving at an even pace around the ring. He stood tall, composed, elegantly turning to face the horse as it circled the ring.

Kaiba looked around. Behind him, shrouded in mist, was his bed. Before him, Atem and the horse in the circular enclosure. Beyond that he could see only desert for miles against a blue and purple twilit sky.

“They're powerful creatures. One kick can kill a man instantly.” Atem gathered up the whip and raised his arms out wide, stepping toward the horse. It nickered and changed direction, and he uncurled the whip again. “But they seldom attack, and when they do it’s almost always in self-defense.”

Atem lunged the horse around the ring with gentle swooshes of the whip, never cracking it, and the horse relaxed into Atem’s pace. Kaiba watched, drawn by the reciprocal power of Atem like a shadow in the low star light and the kinetic white horse.

“They’re cooperative by nature. Social animals. Once you earn their trust, they’ll go to great lengths to please you.”

“Why are you proselytizing about horses? I’d rather duel you than be lectured.”

“You don’t have your deck. And neither of us is dressed for it.”

Kaiba shifted his makeshift kilt, feeling uncharacteristically vulnerable.

“Horses are well and good, but I don’t see how they're relevant enough for you to invade my dreams.”

“Oh, is that so?” Atem said with a smile, and Kaiba rippled with equal parts anger and excitement.

Atem cracked the whip, startling Kaiba and the horse, and the horse took off at a swift cantor around the ring. Its ears flattened back, then flicked forward and around as Atem gently clucked at it, regulating the loping gate with gentle low swooshes of the whip.

“When we were teenagers, we used to have horse races. Games. You always bested me with the chariot, but I beat you soundly in the games that called for horse and rider.”

Kaiba felt a flash of something that bent his ear toward the ground as he listened to the breathing of the horse: a deep somatic memory, a smell of earth and the musk of animal exertion. He shook the memory off, rose to his full height. “Save your nonsense for another dream. I need my rest tonight.”

Atem laughed, head back, an open melodic laugh that stunned Kaiba. Atem flashed him a familiar, goading smirk.

“Who said you were dreaming?” Atem gathered up the whip and clucked and cooed softly until the horse, silver-white coat glistening with sweat, slowed to a trot, and then a high-tailed and elegant walk.

“I suppose if I were really dreaming, I’d hardly be dreaming of you.”

Atem met his eyes and gave a knowing smile, but said nothing. He began to walk with the horse as it cooled down, making wider and wider circles until they were walking shoulder-to-shoulder.

“Aibou is like a horse. He only faintly comprehends his own power, and even then only when pressed.”

Atem put a slim dark hand on the horse’s withers and the two stilled. He gently rubbed the soft muzzle with two knuckles, then ran his hand up the long lean face to brush aside the forelock.

“Good boy, good boy,” he spoke softy to the horse, switching rapidly between phrases Kaiba recognized to tripping sibilants that felt wholly unfamiliar in Kaiba’s ear, but that he understood nonetheless. Atem looped the rope around the horse’s head and tied a quick halter. He loosened one of the ropes from an enclosure post and walked the horse up to Kaiba.

Kaiba felt like Atem was dissecting him with his eyes, and something chaotic in Kaiba flared up—but he squelched it, opting to place a large splayed hand on the warm, pulsing neck of the horse.

“He trusts you.” Atem gazed up at Kaiba for a long moment, and something unspoken passed between them. The horse brayed and Atem handed Kaiba the lead.

“Walk with me. I’m going to tell you the story of creation.”

Atem started off, and for a moment Kaiba was sure he would disappear. But the moment passed and Kaiba led the horse over Atem’s footprints in the sand.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Building something together, that’s the essence of love.

They shouldered their way through the thick crowd of fans and duelists that had gathered in the atrium of KC Coliseum. It was tournament day, the regional qualifier that would lead to Nationals, and World Championship beyond.

Yugi was equal parts giddy and focused, his sense of childlike joy marbling with a gravity and aggression that, though familiar, felt newly native to him. Having Jounouchi beside him added to his excitement, the edges of his senses licked by little flashes of memories of their fighting together against odds far beyond the scope of today’s earthly matches.

He considered his friend as they bumped their way through the crowd toward the pre-registration desk. Jounouchi had grown too since Battle City. He was even taller, a little thicker in the arms and legs, more patient. He was more clever, more keen. He was wearing his good shirt. Yugi beamed a little inside with pride and gratitude. It would be a bittersweet challenge if they matched off in the next stage.

Yugi had paid a little extra attention that morning himself. He was in the public eye now as a KC sponsored duelist, and he’d picked up a thing or two from stylists at the various shoots he’d had to endure. He was bare armed in a black patent vest, slim cut distressed white jeans tucked into the studded moto boots he’d become so attached to since he lost the puzzle. One silver earring, a spiked cuff and a bike chain bracelet on his drawing hand, a chain with a padlock around his neck, over the ever-present collar.

On tournament days in particular he needed a little weight around his neck, it made him feel ready. This morning he’d applied a bit of kohl that Malik had prepared by hand and sent to him with some other little gifts he’d gathered in his travels. Yugi felt primed, full of potential energy.

They made it to the front and Yugi held his DuelDisk up to the scanner. It blinked green and chimed.

“Welcome to Kaiba Coliseum, Mutou Yugi,” said the white-suited woman behind the counter. “Right this way.”

He shifted his weight from one foot to the other and back again. “Well…I know this is pre-admittance only, but my friend here is a registered competitor, could he come back with me now?”

The woman smiled and swept a lock of pastel pink hair behind her ear. “May I scan your disk sir?”

Jounouchi held up his first generation DuelDisk. The woman pulled out a wire, plugged it into the terminal on the underside of Jounouchi’s disk. Another green light, another chime. They looked at each other questioningly and shrugged.

“I have a check here for the registration fee—” Jounouchi said, patting at his pockets.

“You’ve been pre-admitted, Mr. Jounouchi,” she said with a polite smile, and lifted a slim hand toward the elevator bay beyond.

They were quiet until they got into the elevator.

“Aaaaaahhhh, this is amazing. Not like Kaiba to make a mistake like that but I’ll take it” Jounouchi grinned.

Yugi grinned back and gave him a low-five.

“So did you find out if you’re facing Mai in your division?”

“Not this stage. Maybe in the next.”

The elevator door opened onto the VIP area and Jounouchi gasped.

The entryway was lined with statues, only they weren’t statues, they looked real: monster after monster rendered life sized by Solid Vision’s crystal cloud. The memories and imaginations of thousands of people merged, and the composite of their understanding was projected directly into one another's minds. Even Yugi himself was taken aback. There was a long hall lined on one side with monsters he knew and recognized and loved, all looking so impossibly, touchably real. At the end of the hall of monsters was an atrium, where a huge skylight let the sun shine on the Blue Eyes White Dragon, twisting around the figure of the Black Magician with his staff raised, frozen in the moment just before combat.

As they made their way along the hall, he realized that the monsters on the other side were Kaiba’s. The whole floor was a grand shrine to their rivalry.

Yugi felt his swelling pride hitch a little on a pang of anxiety. He knew Kaiba was one for spectacle, but this felt deeply personal in a way that he wasn’t sure applied to him. They stepped around the grand sculpture—if you could call it a sculpture—and entered the room beyond the atrium.

It was a huge open hall dotted with tables and various display stations and kiosks filled with card dealers, KaibaCorp displays, catering stations. This room too had a centerpiece, and Yugi’s heart leapt a little when he saw it.

This was a mobile sculpture, filling the space between the floor and the cathedral-high ceilings. It was the Blue Eyes Alternative White Dragon and Gandora, rallying strike after strike against one another, silent but brilliantly luminescent with all of the fearful detail of SolidVision. Red and blue light streaked the floor with psychedelic patterns as the monsters moved above them. Projected debris rained down from the illusory destruction, dissipating and disappearing not five feet above their heads like melting snow.

“This is out of control. Even for him, this is a lot. I mean, it’s just a qualifier!” Jounouchi said, voice pinched, eyes darting around the room.

Yugi’s heart swelled. He was among strong and respectable duelists and he drank in a quiet power as he breathed. This was him in his element, and he felt it in his body. He would turn 21 this June, and he had finally integrated the idea of battle violence with his need for peace. PowerVision dueling was violence by proxy, the game that could resolve differences without bodily harm. It was as real and as personal as a street brawl, but it moved the center of power from the fists to the mind and the heart. This was a kind of battle he could stand behind.

Dueling had become second nature to him, and his fighting spirit was as important to him—and as strong—as his compassion. His first nature was and always would be that deep and easy compassion, a wisdom and a kindness about others. It was from that place that he battled, a foil and a mirror for every opponent he faced—and that attitude sustained his popularity well after Battle City. It wasn't just his pristine record, it was the building mythos of the unlikely and benevolent duel king doling out secret and personal insight with every loss, losses he dispensed with grace and that kind little smile.

“I’m so fired up I can't even stand it.”

Jounouchi was grinning ear to ear and Yugi knew he felt it too, the skin-prickling pre-battle excitement. They stood elbow to elbow (elbow to arm for the height difference, Yugi tucked half under Jounouchi’s arm) toward one side of the room, looking out over the bobbing heads of their opponents as they threaded from booth to booth, and the waiters in white tails with their silver platters reflecting the blue and red lights of the fighting dragons floated by them like ghosts.

There was a sharp electronic whine as Gandora self destructed, bringing the display to a brutal halt. The room grew still, and a white egg materialized high in the center of the room. All around them hidden speakers came to life, and a voice said:

“What has the power to shape your reality? Is it your social network, the people you see every day? Is it your country, its laws and its military and its police forces? Is it your family, your tribe, the weight of human history?”

The egg began to crack, and beams of white light streaked out through the cracks.

“You who believe in destiny, in fate, in the linearity of time, in some external force that guides the progression of history, hear me now.”

The egg shattered and a white dragon slowly began to unfurl.

“Every day you lay down your power before an imaginary guide—god, country, status. You limit yourself to fit within your chosen system. And for what? Because it's easier, because it feels safer to feel that something or someone above you is in control?”

The wings of the dragon spread wide and it opened its shining blue eyes.

“The desire to connect, the desire to destroy; the power of unity, the power of solitude; the power of illusion, the power of force. These are yours to call upon!”

The dragon charged up into the air, wing beats sending gusts of wind rushing over the crowd below. It turned in mid air and roared before firing a beam of light at the ground. Every wall in the room lit up, floor to ceiling displays showing footage from Kc Coliseum where the same little drama was unfolding. On the screens, the platform carrying Kaiba in his white coat rose up from the smoke. He thrust his fist in the air, the blue light shining from his DuelDisk.

“Reign over your earthly existence like a king, a god of your own soul. Fight, and show the world the reality of your own creation!”

They could hear, no, feel the riotous applause from the stadium stands beyond.

In the waiting area, the walls lit up with a huge tournament bracket. Yugi searched the bracket for Jounouchi’s name, then traced his trajectory from first round seed to qualifier finals. There were six matches between Jounouchi and the qualifier seat for his division. Yugi quickly ran through all the matches in his head, making predictions for who would advance from each match. He smiled. If he kept his head together Jounouchi was a sure-shot.

It seemed to take Jounouchi another minute or two before he came to the same conclusion. He cracked his knuckles and shook his limbs out.

“ALL RIGHT. Let's do this, eh?”

“Mhm.”

They bumped fists and shared a glance, a little nod, then went their separate ways.

Yugi was seeded further along in bracket. He would play a maximum of three rounds today. In the time between, he'd been invited to an exhibition melee with Kaiba. It was a relaxed rules duel intended to demonstrate the creative potential of PowerVision. True to form, it was to take place at the top of a spire on one side of the coliseum, invite-only but streamed to world media outlets.

Mokuba somehow managed to catch his eye from the other side of the room.

“Yuuuuuugi!” Mokuba called, and the two met in the middle. Mokuba hugged Yugi with one arm, juggling his holo clipboard, a headset and a DuelDisk in the other arm.

“There you are!! This is for you, it’s got updated hardware and firmware. Nii-sama finished them early this morning.”

“Another all-nighter huh?” Yugi parted his hair with some difficulty and settled the headpiece into place. It was deep red with matte black accents. The DuelDisk was similarly colored, with purple and red cabochon stones for buttons. It was an impressive little piece of hardware, full of Kaiba’s attention to detail. He removed his deck from the disk he’d been wearing, then handed it to Mokuba.

Mokuba was already walking as he took it, talking over his shoulder. “Mhmm. He’s in a good mood though. This is gonna be a big deal. Are you ready?? Read the brief and all?”

“Ummm…..yes. Okay, looks like some minor changes.” Yugi’s eyes flitted between the manual projected in front of him and the crowd as he tried to keep up with Mokuba’s sharp and efficient little movements as the younger Kaiba cut effortlessly through. Mokuba seemed completely immune to the whispers as they made their way to the far elevator bay, but Yugi still picked up every one.

“That’s the duel king. Mutou…Yugi right?”

“Oh! That must be Kaiba junior, I read an article about him on PostMod Gamer, did you know he’s head of development at KC?”

“Is that the duel king? He’s shorter than I imagined.”

“I hope I don’t have to get past him this round.”

Yugi was relieved when Mokuba swiped them into a wide elevator. Two towering suits entered behind them and Yugi let out the breath he’d been holding for about 10 paces.

“You’re gonna do great.” Mokuba patted Yugi’s arm.

Yugi smiled at him. They were the same height now. It was only a matter of time before Mokuba passed him by. He was looking more and more like Kaiba every day: a little broader in the shoulder, a little more smug. He’d kept the openness and mischievousness that had drawn them all to him when they first became friends, and the combo of mischief and kindness and a little touch of cockiness made him popular with the teen and tween magazines. Yugi wondered if he wouldn't end up becoming the most famous of their friend group in the end.

Friend. Mokuba was definitely his friend. If they spent too many late days during product testing, Mokuba would inevitably drag out some imported liquor for them to play dangerous game he called ShotCapMon. The younger Kaiba could talk and talk and talk, especially a game or two into ShotCapMon, and he and Yugi had bonded over Mokuba going through boy things: discovering girls, swearing off institutionalized schooling, balancing work life and real life, this or that new obsession that would invariably make its way into a new KC Games Division best seller. Yugi had become a sort of surrogate brother, a trusted friend Mokuba could float his more risqué thoughts by (one overnight debug and test run marathon and three games of ShotCapMon in, he’d flopped over a couch upside down, legs dangling off the back rest, and pinned Yugi with his wide and piercing blue eyes and said “Na, Yugi, have you ever done drugs?”).

The elevator doors opened and the suits stepped aside to let them through. Kaiba was bent over a console making last minute system preparations, but he straightened when he heard Mokuba’s animated chatter. He turned and caught Yugi’s gaze, and neither moved for an intense second. Kaiba smirked, and Yugi felt himself redden but his eyes narrowed and his fists clenched, an instinctive move that made Kaiba draw his brows. Kaiba broke eye contact first, turning around to tap through several menus on the holo display.

“I’ve put limiters on the feedback system. The data gate will flood if you exceed a certain level of neurological excitement. If that happens, try and maintain focus. I’ve programmed a scenario that will complete the melee should we need to exit the demonstration, but I’m sure you'd rather beat the test yourself.”

Kaiba threw a little smirk over his shoulder, then collected a handful of quarter-sized disks. Mokuba directed Yugi to stand on a small platform next to Kaiba. Kaiba peeled an adhesive film off the back of one of the disks. He lightly touched Yugi’s chin with his thumb, and Yugi tilted his head to the side, hoping Kaiba couldn't feel his jackhammer heartbeat. Kaiba stuck the little disk on the side of Yugi’s neck, just above the leather collar. He lightly touched Yugi’s chin again and Yugi tilted his head back. It was all quick and subtle touches, and Yugi felt strangely compliant, strangely still as Kaiba delicately applied the monitors to his neck and temples.

Mokuba had stepped behind him, tugged up his jeans, stuck two monitors on each side of his ankles. The contrast between Mokuba’s rough but efficient motions as he tugged down Yugi’s pant leg and the older Kaiba’s feather-light touch as he pressed a final monitor onto the back of Yugi’s neck made Yugi wonder for the very first time since he’d known them what their parents were like. He was so used to thinking of them as a unit—but the boyish, roguish grin, did Mokuba get that from their father? Did Kaiba, so obsessed as he was with brute force, did he get this uncanny tenderness from their mother?

Not tenderness, skill, Yugi thought to himself. It was imagined sweetness, nothing more than a byproduct of motor control, efficiency, economy of motion.

“I won't be holding back.”

Kaiba was so close to him that the measured words ruffled the top of Yugi’s hair.

“Neither will I.” Yugi glared up at him, and they traded fractional smiles despite themselves.

Kaiba stepped back onto the adjacent platform and armed his duel disk. Yugi did the same, and both platforms began to rise up through the apertures in the ceiling. By the time they docked on the field above, Mokuba had ascended the stairs and was addressing the small but rapt crowd.

“What you are about to see is a PowerLink duel. This technology is an extension of the PowerVision system, which runs on data collected by DuelLinks to the Kaiba Corporation Crystal Cloud Network. By relaying electromagnetic field readings from the cranial orbit, two or more cooperating players can amplify one another's will drives. Once amplified, the drives can be read and interpreted by the PowerVision system, creating scenarios that grow organically from the players’ understanding of conventional gameplay rules, and of the physics of everyday life. This technology can be used to enable gameplay in situations where connection to the Crystal Cloud is disrupted or unavailable, broadening the playable market to include places in the world where high speed data transfer isn't yet standard. It broadens the scope of gameplay to include anything imaginable to the human mind. In other words, PowerLink makes dreams a reality.”

Yugi assessed the field. He and Kaiba were about ten yards apart on one side, and an AI was opposite them.

“In this demonstration, the players will work in tandem to defeat a simulated enemy. Please remain calm through the match. Any damage to the field and surrounding structures is merely a projection of the PowerVision system.”

Mokuba stepped off the field and into a control box nearby. He raised his hand, checked the holo display in front of him, then swung his arm down, shouting:

“Duel!!”

The AI activated, digitized voice narrating as it summoning two Thunder Dragons, defaulted to max power. Two set cards appeared on the AI’s side of the field, and Kaiba was already drawing, summoning two Blue Eyes Alternative White Dragons by showing the Blue Eyes White Dragon in his hand. As he was channeling their power to maximum Yugi summoned Black Magician, then set two cards.

He heard Kaiba call forth a Master with the Eyes of Blue as the AI sent a Thunder Dragon with an equip card toward Neo Blue Eyes. Yugi countered with Swords of Revealing Light.

The AI was already summoning more monsters, a Thunder Dragonhawk and a Thunder Dragondark, and Yugi heard—felt?—Kaiba call Black Magician as tribute for a synchro summon.

Azure Synchro Summoner appeared between them on the field and she raised her staff, activating her special effect. An Azure Eyes Silver Dragon materialized on the field, and Yugi set one card.

Kaiba played Monster Reborn from Yugi’s side of the field, summoning back Black Magician again just as Yugi summoned Buster Blader.

To one another's surprise, they called in unison “Reverse card open!”

Polymerization was activated from Yugi’s side of the field, and Black Paladin materialized between the dissipating forms of Black Magician and Buster Blader.

The AI activated Double Spell, and borrowed Polymerization’s effect from their graveyard, chaining Thunder Dragon Fusion to summon not one but two Thunder Dragon Titans. Swords of Revealing Light flickered and dissipated.

Yugi ran through different outcomes in his mind. They had Azure Eyes Silver Dragon, Azure Synchro Summoner and Black Paladin. He had no set cards, and nothing in his hand that could help them. He felt the muscles in his thigh twitch as he ran through the cards left in his deck. If he could only draw—

A high whine pierced his consciousness, and for a moment he felt nothing. He glanced over at Kaiba and when their eyes met, he felt the sync hit. His blood was loud and hot in his veins, in his ears. He tried to control his breathing, gaze still locked on Kaiba’s battle-wild blue eyes. They panted in unison, feeling feeling feeling, and together saw in their mind’s eye a folded blue lotus against a field of black. The leaves of the lotus began to part, and a golden light shone from inside it.

Yugi felt the understanding dawn on him and it filled him with a kinetic warmth. His arms twitched in sympathy as Kaiba flicked through the cards in his display hand. Yugi’s lips mouthed the words Kaiba spoke as he said:

“From my hand I activate Spell Reproduction.”

The card materialized in Yugi’s hand. Kaiba said in unison with him:

“From my hand I activate—”

And Yugi continued alone:

“Polymerization.”

Kaiba tributed Azure Eyes and Azure Synchro Summoner and Yugi tributed Black Paladin. Together they called:

“Come forth! Black Blade Paladin, Azure Dragon Knight!”

The monster that materialized before them took Yugi’s breath away. The long arched body of a Blue Eyes stood before them, each armored white plate streaked with blue markings, runes and spells and symbols. It looked like war paint. It had a double pair of slim white wings, slightly overlapping like a dragonfly’s. It had two heads, both heads wearing elaborately carved gold bridles inlaid with onyx and black diamonds. Between the double wings was a golden saddle, and in the saddle was a blue-eyed woman in a long black cape. She too had war paint on her face, runes glowing in her black and gold armor, and a long white braid trailing out from under a horned battle helmet and down the embroidered cape. In each hand she bore a golden sword with an obsidian-inlaid handle.

The AI’s turn came and for a moment nothing happened. Then, both Thunder Dragon Titans charged. The Dragon Knight leaped into the air, twisting to block and deflect each electric beam with its golden swords. Each long neck reared back and the great mouths opened, framing the paladin rider. She crossed her swords, and each head radiated white energy onto the swords until the light was nearly blinding. Both men stood with a hand out, fingers splayed wide as they called:

“Dual hand lightning!”

The heads dropped low and the rider sliced once, twice, sending huge rounds of glowing plasma at each Titan. Struck, the titans fell and dematerialized, and the AI’s lifepoints spun down to zero.

There was silence as the PowerVision projections dematerialized, and Yugi, panting and slick with sweat, looked over at Kaiba. Kaiba was still staring straight ahead, but he was smiling, and Yugi felt a shudder of physical pleasure and a wash of warmth before he tapped the red gem on the top of his DuelDisk, cutting off the connection.

The modest crowd erupted in applause, and Mokuba stepped up to answer questions. Kaiba gestured to one of the sidelined suits and their platforms descended, the apertures shutting out the spotlights and camera flashes above.

“What was that?” Yugi said, breathless.

Kaiba stepped down from the platform and grabbed Yugi’s disk-bearing arm, lifting it to examine it. He drew the top card from Yugi’s deck and handed it to him.

“Impossible! Black Blade Paladin isn't a real card.” Yugi said, turning the card over in his hand. It felt real enough.

Kaiba was at a console, rapidly typing and swiping through menus. Yugi gasped: he was searching Industrial Illusion’s card database for data pertaining to Black Blade Paladin, and to both of their surprise, there it was, a full dataset, statistics and play rules like any other card.

“We generated it. We willed it into existence in this reality.”

Kaiba wasn't looking at him, but Yugi felt pinned by his gaze anyway. Kaiba was staring straight ahead again, his eyes a little distant, a faint smile on his lips. He seemed calmer than Yugi had ever seen him.

“Stranger things have happened.”

By the time Mokuba came down, Yugi and Kaiba had taken off their monitors and headsets and duel disks and were sitting in a comfortable but energetic silence on either side of a low white table, the card they had summoned into existence sitting there between them.

“Oh my god. Is that an actual card?” Mokuba leaned over the table to look at it.

Kaiba’s long limbs were neatly folded, his oversized form tucked into a low chair.

“I’ll need all the data from the computer log, as well as the video footage from every camera. We’ll go over it tonight in B lab.”

Yugi was leaning slightly over the table, elbows on his knees, fingers steepled in front of his lips. His eyes narrowed as he stared at the card and for a moment Mokuba thought: did they somehow bring him back? But then Yugi turned and smiled and he shook that thought away.

“What a day already, huh? How did it go upstairs?”

“Oh, they were rabid. Lots of questions about keeping the game balanced if the generativity becomes accessible to average players. But they were practically throwing checks at me toward the end. The press is going to be very positive.”

“Good work.” Kaiba said, and Mokuba preened.

“Oh, the time! Yugi, your first match should be in about 45 minutes. Do you wanna eat beforehand?”

“I think so. Thank you, Mokuba.”

“I gotcha. Nii-sama?” Kaiba nodded, and with that, Mokuba quietly left.

Kaiba activated a holo screen and brought up tournament coverage.

“One man’s trash is another man’s treasure.” He tapped a box and split screen footage from Jounouchi’s last two matches began to play.

“Why do you hate him?” Yugi said.

Kaiba looked genuinely surprised. Surprise gave way to amusement and he smirked.

“Hate is something I save for the worthy.”

“He’s playing very well these days.” Yugi said.

Kaiba snorted. “Of course he’s playing well. Why else would Kaiba Corporation be scouting someone like him for sponsorship?”

“Now that’s officially stranger than this,” Yugi said, gesturing at the card between them.

The two sat quietly as they watched the footage. Yugi couldn't help but pump his fist when he saw that Jounouchi swept both matches.

Kaiba scanned some more footage. He sped through a match with Mai, checked the bracket and the play logs for a few other matches. He tapped his collar and spoke into his lapel:

“Isono. Proceed with protocol 2-B.”

“Yes, sir.” crackled his collar in reply.

“Kaiba. What are you doing, building a team like this?” Yugi asked.

Kaiba looked at him cooly.

“Team? Don’t be silly.”

Yugi was about to protest when Mokuba backed into the room, pulling a tray of food in behind him.

“Medium-rare, right?”

“Mhm!”

Yugi picked up the card on the low table and offered it to Kaiba.

“It was in your deck—it’s your card now.”

Yugi slipped the card into the case on his hip.

Mokuba set a plate with a hamburger and truffle fries and a delicate mixed green salad in front of Yugi. He unpacked a little spread of Indian food and breads and scooted the tray towards his brother, and the three started eating.

“I passed Isono in the hallway. So we’re gonna do the thing, Nii-sama?”

Kaiba hummed an affirmative. Mokuba looked extremely pleased as he brought out his phone, typing rapidly.

Yugi felt his strength returning. The three of them sitting there, eating and chatting, it was a rare moment of relaxation. Yugi felt like he was in the presence of family, like he’d known the Kaiba brothers all his life. He touched the padlock around his neck, wondered what Atem would feel if he were here in their little bubble of temporary intimacy.

“Nii-sama has some work to do. I’ll collect you after your matches and take you to the reception okay?” Mokuba said between bites.

“Mhm!”

The three finished their meal, held in a comfortable silence.


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Bones are for dogs, Jounouchi Katsuya. And you...are a duelist.”

“Red-eyes Black Metal Dragon, attack! Dark Mega Flare!”

Jounouchi heard nothing as his opponent’s life points spun down to zero. There was a high whine he felt more than heard, and then a rush of sound as his awareness expanded out from the space between him and his opponent to fill the coliseum.

He had won, and he’d done it spectacularly. He felt his eyes well up for a moment as he saw with perfect clarity the image of Atem giving him a thumbs up. This was the moment, a turning point in his life. He was on fire, he’d been in a perfect flow state for the whole match. Field and hand and move after move laid perfectly before him, and making the right calls came easily. His instincts were honed, he’d dictated the pace. The match was his from the start.

So this is what it feels like, he thought. He collected his deck, still drinking in the applause, and turned to flash Honda and and Otogi a roguish grin.

When he descended from the arena they were waiting.

“Jounouchiiii,” Honda gave him a painfully enthusiastic high five.

“Nicely done,” said Otogi.

“Bakura’s over watching Yugi’s match, let’s go catch the end!”

They didn’t have to look hard, because the noise from the crowd around Yugi’s playfield was impossible to miss. They could barely see over the press of the spectators, but no sooner had they arrived than the crowd erupted in a roar—Yugi had already won, his lifepoints untouched. Jounouchi stood up on his toes and caught a glimpse of Bakura’s hair.

“Bakura! Over here!”

Bakura slipped through the crowd like a fox—like a ghost, Jounouchi thought to himself—and met the three where they stood near a pillar. Bakura said:

“I think theres a hallway between the field and the players-only area, lets try and meet him back there.”

The four of them made their way to the hallway and took up spots against the wall.

“How did it go? You won?” Bakura said to Jounouchi.

“He pounded them.” Honda said, grinning.

Jounouchi looked at the deck in his DuelDisk. “I can’t lie, we did pretty good today.”

“Guys!!” Yugi called from down the hall, trotting over to them and waving. Yugi and Jounouchi bumped fists, Bakura patted Yugi’s shoulder affectionately, Honda and Otogi gave him high fives in turn.

“Killer match,” Bakura said.

“Mhm!” Yugi beamed at him, then turned to Jounouchi. “I saw your first two matches! You did great.”

“Well I won the other ones too,” Jounouchi said, flexing.

“Our boy is growing up,” Honda said, gripping Otogi’s forearm, feigning tears.

They all laughed and clapped Jounouchi on the back again. Otogi opened his mouth to needle Jounouchi again when a voice from behind them piped:

“Yugi! Guys!”

It was Mokuba, hurrying down the hall with a silver briefcase.

“Jounouchi, I’m glad you’re here.”

“Mokuba! How’s it going?”

They bumped elbows in greeting as Mokuba maneuvered the brief case to the ground in front of him.

“I have a message for you from Nii-sama.”

“Oh no,” Bakura whispered.

Mokuba straightened his vest and lifted his chin, face suddenly serious.

“He says that anyone who plays with such an old and beat up DuelDisk has no place competing in his tournaments.”

Jounouchi fumed, balled his fists and sucked in a huge breath, a huge string of expletives primed on his tongue, when Mokuba quickly added “So thats why he sent this,” and hefted the briefcase up into Jounouchi’s arms.

“What—”

“Okay everybody let’s get going. The reception is in an hour and I have to get you all the way across town.”

“Everybody?” Yugi said, incredulous.

“Yeah everybody,” Mokuba rolled his eyes and counted them all on his hand. “The limo seats eight…six minus eight is two…two seats left. We have two guests, six seats left, six people here…okay?”

There was a pregnant pause, and the boys all looked from one to another: Honda wary, Otogi mischeviously excited, Bakura blissfully neutral, Jounouchi looking as though smoke was about to come out of both ears. But Yugi looked hopeful, and so Jounouchi pulled his own hair and groaned and said, “What the hell, right?”

Yugi grinned and they all followed Mokuba down the hall and out a service entrance, where the limo was waiting.

“This is great,” Bakura said, lightly running a finger over the slick white exterior of the car before he ducked inside.

The boys all piled in behind him, Mokuba last of them, and he pulled the door closed behind him.

“Hello, boys.”

Jounouchi’s eyes went wide and he nearly fumbled the briefcase in his lap. Sitting toward the partition with a champagne glass in her hand was Mai, skin tight patent leather dueling outfit and thigh high boots and expensive French perfume Mai.

“Mai…”

“Jounouchi. Yugi.”

Yugi nodded a greeting.

There was a red lip print on her champagne glass, which she had just clinked against the glass of her companion, a pretty red head in an emerald green cocktail gown, the back of whose up-do Jounouchi was fixated on, puzzled, the light red-brown shade of the hair was too familiar—

“SHIZUKA?”

His sister turned and flashed her amber eyes at him and smiled.

“Onii-chan!”

“You…how did you…you’re too young to drink!” Jounouchi, flustered, really did drop the briefcase this time as Mokuba ducked past him to squeeze in between Otogi and Shizuka. He pulled a bottle from an ice tray against the wall of the limo and started passing glasses around.

“Everybody’s legal in KaibaLand!” he chirped, pouring Bakura a glass.

Yugi sat back in the middle rear seat of the limo, watching everybody pass their glasses and raise little toasts and laugh and chat, soft smile on his lips softened even more by the little pang of absence he felt. He tried to memorize the scene, saving every sweet little detail just in case he ever got the chance again to share memories with his other self again.

“Thank you, Mokuba,” Bakura said, raising his glass.

“Yeah thank you! You didn’t have to do all this.” Otogi said.

“I didn’t have to, but what’s the fun in that? Work hard play hard,” Mokuba said, and Yugi caught a little glint in Shizuka’s eye as she watched Mokuba, rapt—more than rapt, almost glowing. Yugi chuckled to himself, wondering how long it would take Jounouchi to notice.

“To family…of choice.” Mai said, training her warm blue eyes on each of them in turn.

“Mai…” Yugi said, touched.

“Hey! To family!” said Mokuba.

“I’ll drink to that!” Bakura said.

“Not if I drink to it first.” Honda said, grinning.

“Cheers, everybody.” Shizuka silvered.

Yugi and Bakura sipped from the glasses, but Jounouchi downed his in one gulp. Otogi and Honda shrugged and followed suit, clinking their empty glasses afterwards. Mai shook her head and chuckled, and Shizuka and Mokuba clinked their glasses again and took little sips, trading goofy smiles.

“So what’s this all about? Did you gather everyone to witness my murder? Is this gonna explode when I open it?” Jounouchi said, pulling the briefcase up onto his knees.

“Open it and find out,” Mokuba said, crossing his legs and arms. Yugi did a double-take—he looked so much like his brother with that coy little smirk on his face.

“If this is the end, it was nice knowing you all,” Jounouchi said, crossing himself. He took a deep breath and slid the latches to the side, then cautiously opened the briefcase.

There was a beat of silence as he stared, confused, at the contents.

“Jounouchi, what is it?” Honda said, concerned.

Jounouchi ran his fingers over the hardware inside, still quiet. It was a custom second generation DuelDisk with PowerLink hardware added, done up in red and black like Yugi’s, but with all red gems and more angular hardware. There was a matching headset with his name engraved on the side. There was a slim manila envelope with his name in Kaiba’s emphatic but neat hand tucked underneath the DuelDisk, and Jounouchi fingered it lightly, but left it sealed.

“Mokuba…thank you. Tell your brother I said thank you. But I can’t accept this”

Mokuba shrugged. “Tell him yourself when we get there.”

“Suit yourself.” Mai said, angling her Fendi bag toward Jounouchi so he could see her DuelDisk peeking out, black and purple with opals and amethyst for buttons. “I accept our host’s gracious offering with pleasure.” She winked at Mokuba.

“Amazing,” Otogi said, peering over. “Nice to be Kaiba’s favorites.”

Honda snorted. “Jounouchi? Kaiba’s favorite?”

“Yeah, there’s no way.” Jounouchi said. “I don’t know what this is for, but I can’t accept it. I’ll give it back to Kaiba when we get there.”

Yugi said nothing. He gazed out the tinted windows, thoughtful. His rival was no doubt deploying some long-sighted strategy. He would have to unravel it to make a counter play.

The limousine pulled to a stop in front of a lavish hotel. The driver said, “Mr. Mokuba, we’ve arrived.”

“Allll right everybody, let’s go!” Mokuba said, opening the foremost door. He held it open and gently helped Shizuka and then Mai step out of the limo. The eight of them headed toward the lobby, cloaked in an air of excitement.

“Jounouchi,” Mokuba said quietly, stepping up to the other man’s side. “Will you humor me and wear the DuelDisk? Just for the opening speech. Then you can do whatever you want with it.”

Jounouchi looked ahead of him, where Mai and Yugi were chatting amicably. Yugi was still wearing his DuelDisk, and Mai was in the process of slipping hers on.

“Since it was you that asked…” Jounouchi said, pausing to crouch down and unlatch the briefcase. He looked down at his old DuelDisk for a long moment before slipping it off, exchanging it for the new one in the case. He slipped his deck into the deck slot, and his heart skipped a beat as the DuelDisk beeped its activation.

“Onii-chan, Mokuba!” Shizuka called from down the hall, where the rest had disappeared.

“Coming!” Mokuba said, and off they went.

 

****

 

Yugi was drained. There was a din about the low lit reception room that tugged at his senses, and the wine in his hand was going quickly to his head. He was glad that his friends were here, but a part of him craved some rest, some alone time. It had been a long day in an even longer week, and he was already anticipating all the hand shaking and casual niceties he would have to endure before he could seek the haven of his room.

Bakura was expounding at length about the difference between Sterlet and Sevruga caviar and subsequently why Yugi should definitely be excited that he was tasting it.

“Like this, on the toast, and here take a little of this,” Bakura said, dropping a tiny spoonful of crème fraiche on the little toast point, next to the caviar.

“Ok, here goes,” Yugi said, taking a bite.

“Isn’t it so good? Oh my god, theres smoked swordfish over here, you have to try this…”

Yugi followed Bakura as he practically danced around the catering tables lined with exotic hors d’ouevres, pointing out all the things he used to love. Yugi smiled, accepting little bite after bite. Bakura was obviously living vicariously through him, and he was hungry, after all. There was something tender about Bakura all but feeding him, and he felt his strength start to return.

“Hey, Bakura. Why did you decide to go vegetarian?”

Bakura stilled, absently gripping his upper left arm where the scar was.

“I don’t know…it just seems that since that time, every time I eat meat I feel sick.”

They both grew serious.

“Hey…its okay. I understand.” They held each other’s gaze for a long while and something in Bakura shifted. He opened his mouth to speak, but before he could the lights cut out. A single spotlight shone down upon the Kaiba brothers, who were standing on a platform near the bottom of a grand staircase.

“Friends, benefactors, honored guests, we at Kaiba Corporation thank you for your presence here tonight.” Mokuba said. “We are honored to celebrate the start of the first international PowerVision tournament—a night that will mark a new era in gaming”

The taller Kaiba continued: “Tonight the sun sets on holograms and avatars and player characters, giving rise to new era of generative reality gaming. In this new age, the very fabric of reality itself will bend to the one crowned king of games.”

Kaiba raised his disk-bearing arm, clenched his large hand emphatically.

“Who has the strength to seize the throne? And who has the power to join the court of the game king, to rule our new reality where games of skill replace the sordid games of war?”

There was a murmur through the crowd as lights suddenly shone on Yugi and Jounouchi and Mai and several other unfamiliar faces, all of them wearing PowerVision DuelDisks. Kaiba swept his eyes over the spotlit crowd and settled on Yugi.

“Join us as we search the entire world for those who have the skill to bear the crown!”

The room broke into applause. Kaiba held Yugi’s eyes for a long while, through Mokuba’s formal announcement about world-wide tournament dates. Bakura chuckled.

“Always with the monologues, you’d think he was a thespian. What a way to make sales.”

But something in Yugi knew the showmanship and the speeches and the spectacle weren’t just marketing. He felt eyes on him from all over the room. People knew him as the Duel King—the ultimate barrier to Kaiba’s promised throne. He prickled, goosebumps running up his arms. He clenched his fists, feeling an instinctive duty to defend his title. After all, he was the vessel of the pharaoh, the king of kings of a thousand years.

Jounouchi found his way over to Yugi and Bakura.

“Typical Kaiba. Seems like he put a target on your head, huh, Yugi?”

“Don’t be a moron. Anyone who wants to get to Yugi has to get through me first,” Kaiba said, looming behind Jounouchi.

“Jesus, you’re quiet for a big guy,” Jounouchi said, holding his heart. “What’s this about? Is this a bribe?” Jounouchi held up his disk arm.

Kaiba looked surprised, then serious. He snapped is fingers and a white-tailed waiter appeared with a tray of champagne glasses.

“What could I possibly want from you so badly that I would need to bribe you?” Kaiba passed them each a glass. “This is simply an acknowledgement of your ascension out of the realm of obscurity.”

“Well I can’t accept it.”

Kaiba laughed, tipped his glass. “You won’t accept a simple gift from your future brother-in-law?”

Yugi and Bakura giggled. Jounouchi looked completely bewildered.

“What the hell are you talking about?” Jounouchi said, the confusion pinching his face.

“Jounouchi,” Yugi said, placing a hand up on his shoulder. “Your sister. Look over there.”

Jounouchi turned toward Yugi’s pointed finger, scanning the crowd to see what it was he meant.

“Oh my god. You gotta be fucking kidding me.”

Leaning against a far wall was Mokuba, hand on Shizuka’s hip. She was playing with his tie, all but pressed against him as they chatted intimately, trading mischievous little grins.

“No. Absolutely not. They’re too young. She’s too young, he’s definitely too young. No. Even if they were older. No.”

Yugi and Bakura laughed openly, and Kaiba chuckled.

“So, what…this thing is happening, and now we have to get along, so you’re gonna throw me a bone every now and then, and I’m supposed to forget every arrogant thing you ever said to me?”

“Bones are for dogs, Jounouchi Katsuya,” Kaiba said forcefully, stepping up to loom directly over him. They were close enough in height that Jounouchi was too afraid to move, lest they bump foreheads. He was frozen, taken aback. It may have been the first time he’d ever heard Kaiba say his full name.

“And you…are a duelist.”

Jounouchi stared, uncharacteristically quiet. He nodded.

“Thank you, Kaiba.” Jounouchi touched the gauntlet on his arm. “I won’t waste it.”

“To your future nieces and nephews!” Bakura said, lifting his glass. Yugi clinked it loudly.

“I hate you guys,” Jounouchi said, clinking Kaiba’s glass.

“To the king and his court…long live the king,” Kaiba said, smirking at Yugi.

“Cheers!”


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mahad the magician, a very good man.

“Oh, Yuuugi, how did the tournament go…” came grandfather’s voice from the couch as Yugi trudged up to his room. His head was spinning, he barely remembered the limo ride home, but he felt loose and happy.

“Jii-chan, I’m home. I’m gonna go to bed—” Yugi said, sending a wave behind him, bleary violet eyes unseeing as he made his way automatically to his room.

He flopped down onto his bed, barely registering the soft sensation of someone removing his shoes as he began to drift off.

“Jii-chan?”

He blinked but saw nothing but the ceiling above him. There was a cool touch around his neck as the collar fell away, and his body finally relaxed into a deep dreamless sleep. Something brushed his bangs from his eyes and then he felt no more.

He awoke to the smell of fire smoke and brackish air and a soft exotic floral, all born on a welcome warm wind. He felt a chill beneath it—he was sitting on bare stone, bare-armed, bare-foot, legs exposed.

“Where am I…” he said, blinking into clarity a hexagonal room inscribed on all sides with hieroglyphs, marked with steles and small but elaborately carved and painted obelisks.

“Master, welcome,” said a dark velvet voice from the far side of the room.

Yugi pushed himself upright, a soft woven blanket falling off his shoulders to bunch in his lap.

“You’re in a liminal place. A waiting room of sorts.”

A long-haired figure in a plain off-white tunic brought him a gold plate of fruit, figs and grapes and slices of orange.

Yugi blinked the sleep from his eyes, tried to make sense of the room around him as the man with the plate sat down near him on the stone slab. He recognized the face, the tattoos at the corners of the eyes—

“Black ma—I mean, your name is Mahado, right?”

The man smiled, offering Yugi a segment of orange.

“Eat. You must be exhausted from your journey.”

Yugi cautiously took a bite, and the taste exploded on his tongue. He was almost dizzy from the intensity, the sweet tartness of the juice quenching him as it slid down his throat. His body thrummed with latent energy, and everything slid into total focus.

“Why did you bring me here?”

Mahad folded his hands in his lap. “You came of your own accord. There must be a powerful impetus driving you here so soon.”

“I…I’m dreaming, aren’t I?”

Mahad stood, offering Yugi his large open hand.

“I don’t have the time to explain everything to you now. Allow me to show you what I can before you return to your world.”

Yugi took the magician’s hand, let himself be led to a large podium where the magician unrolled a long papyrus bearing pictures and writing, both heiroglyphs and heiratic.

“There is a time to all things, a purpose and a place. There is a time for planting, a time for reaping. A time for might, a time for mercy. There is a time and a place for every soul to emerge from our world into your own, and a time for every soul to return.”

Mahad pulled the papyrus along until a depiction of the sun barque was centered before them.

“Every living thing moves in cycles in accordance with divine order. This is true even of the sun and stars. Darkness rises at night when the sun descends to the underworld, and is vanquished again at the sun’s return.”

The magician carefully pulled a little scroll from a golden box on a shelf inside the podium and unrolled it before them.

“What is this?” Yugi said, recognizing the form of the elaborate serekh encapsulating four heiroglyphs.

“This is your Horace name, given to you at your appointed time. I dare not speak it aloud—but in your tongue it means Beloved-of-Aten-who-seeks-Ma’at. You see, this mark on your head,” the magician touched Yugi’s forehead at the hairline, where the hair grew golden. “is a kiss from the sun god. A mark of divine favor, or maybe of gratitude, given to you by the sun god the night you were to enter into the realm of the living. You were were conceived three thousand years ago, the same night that Akenadin forged the Millenium Items.”

Yugi looked down at his own bare feet, white on the white limestone.

“Don’t you mean the other me?”

Mahad shook his head. “When the door to the underworld was opened that night, true evil and true righteousness leaked out in equal measure. In order that the world would maintain balance, Atem came to you, to your soul, and asked for your blessing to enter the realm of the living through you so that he could seal away the evil. And you gave him passage.”

“I don’t understand…you mean I’m from ancient Egypt too?”

“You would have been, if the solar child hadn’t come in your stead.”

“The solar child…” Yugi recognized the name from his cursory studies of Egyptian mythology. “So the other me…Atem is the solar child? The sun god?”

The magician squinted, testing the words in his mouth before saying, “In a manner of speaking, we’re all the sun god. But just as you are the living embodiment of Horace-in-the-palace, Osiris-Ani, he who on earth holds the spirit of a god within him, Atem, too, is a living embodiment of the sun god, the great Aten, Amun-Re.”

“‘A living embodiment’…but Atem isn’t alive,” Yugi said thoughtfully. “He crossed over at the ceremonial duel.”

Mahad smiled. “That’s a rather post-Christian view on the next world, my young master.”

Yugi absently touched his bangs, trying to comprehend. A cool blue light was peeking through a slit window at the top of the room. Mahad shook his head.

“We haven’t much time. You were destined to be a great king, one who ruled in compassion and returned peace to his war-torn land.”

“I’m not the kind of person who would want to be king of anything.” Yugi said, touching his stomach where the puzzle would have sat.

“Oh, is that so?” Mahad said fondly. He clasped the smaller man’s shoulder. “You would have been a legendary king. You, as Horus son of Isis, son of immortal Osiris in the underworld, were destined to rule side-by-side with your brother-king and companion. Set, the master of chaos, guardian of the Sun in the devouring night. It’s an old prophecy, told and retold by our people for more than two thousand years before the time of calamity.”

“Set…do you mean Kaiba? My brother-king?”

Mahad unrolled a papyrus depicting in series the rivalry and reconciliation of Set and Horus as Osiris looked on from the underworld.

“It’s no accident you were reborn together in the same time, in the same country, in the same city. The thread of fate that binds you is enduring,” he said, pointing once again to the depiction of the solar barque, where Set and Horace guarded Ra from the serpent that swam in the waters of primordial chaos.

“You were fated to come together to rule the upper and lower kingdoms three thousand years ago. Your wisdom and compassion and his strength and determination were to unite to form a great power that would bring lasting peace to your kingdom. You were to restore Ma’at, order and justice. In absence Ma’at on earth, the forces of entropy will continue to push existence toward a state of formless chaos once more,” the magician said gravely.

“If order can’t be restored to mankind, the creator god will slip into a sleep that spells the death of reality as we know it. The sun will rise no longer, until a billion years of slumber restore the force of life, of ankh, to existence.”

Yugi nodded, feeling pressed by the enormity of it all. His eyes flashed. “What can I do?”

The magician smiled. “You were fated to bring Ma’at to mankind three thousand years ago. You were to set the world on a course toward global brotherhood and cooperation. Because of the hubris of desperate men who opened the doors to the underworld, that future was put aside.”

Yugi’s head was swimming. The room seemed to be closing in on him

“Until now,” the magician said, holding Yugi’s gaze reverently.

“And…Atem? Is he here? Can I see him?”

Mahad shook his head. “We’re out of time. Remember your visit, young master. The more you can remember, the more likely you’ll be able to return. Remember.” Mahado prayed, clutching Yugi’s cool, pale hands in his own large, dark ones. He pressed a small object into Yugi’s palm. “Remember…”

****

 

“Bakura! Sorry I’m late!!” Yugi called, jogging up to the little wood cafe table where Bakura sat.

“Oh it’s no problem. It’s so nice out, I could sit here all day.” Bakura passed Yugi a cup and saucer and checked his phone. “Got you a latte.”

“Thanks!” Yugi dropped two packets of sugar into the cup, disrupting the little floral pattern on top. “I was so wiped out from yesterday that I slept through my alarm.”

Bakura smiled. “That was some party, huh?”

“Mhmm.” Yugi said, absently stirring.

“So what’s going on? You sounded worried on the phone.”

Yugi leaned back in the chair, took a moment to consider his friend. Bakura was sitting peacefully opposite him, receptive, concerned, quiet. Yugi saw the darkness under his eyes and felt guilty for a moment. Bakura was always there to listen and dispense some comforting advice, but how long had it been since Yugi had listened to what was bothering him? He couldn’t remember.

“I…think I had a dream last night.”

“Okay. A bad dream?” Bakura asked, a weary understanding on his face.

“I don’t think so. I woke up feeling strange. Not bad, just a little weird.” Yugi pulled his golden treasure box from his messenger bag. “And this,” he said, opening the lid and tilting it toward Bakura, “was in my hand when I woke up.”

Bakura leaned over the table to look into the box. His eyes went wide.

“May I?”

Yugi nodded.

Bakura hooked the silver chain with one slim finger and carefully lifted the necklace out of the box.

“Incredible!”

Yugi watched the late morning light play off the silver cartouche pendant, and both of them were quiet for a while.

“Do you think it’s a replica? Someone maybe messing with you?”

Yugi shook his head. “I really don’t think so.”

“So what do you think it means?”

Yugi began to answer, but the roar of a motorcycle engine from the street drowned him out. Bakura gently placed the necklace back in the box.

“We have a visitor,” he said. Yugi slipped the lid on the box and put it back into his bag.

“Hey you guys!”

Bakura stood, grinning, and gave the wiry blond a long hug. “Malik! You’re here early.”

“Malik?” Yugi said, standing himself. “What are you doing here?”

They grabbed each other’s right forearms, wrists touching at the pulse point, left hands clapping the other’s right bicep—the tomb guardians’ greeting.

“I’m here on business! I’ve got to be at KaibaCorp in an hour.”

“No way!” Yugi said, sliding his chair over so Malik could sit between him and Bakura. “I’m working for KaibaCorp too these days.”

“I’ll go get you a coffee. Same old?” Bakura asked.

“Thank you,” Malik said with a smile.

There was a beat of comfortable quiet as Bakura slipped into the cafe. Malik’s bright, thickly-lashed eyes glinted and Yugi felt a pang of anxiety, echoing down from some buried memory of a shadow game.

“It’s so strange to see you here after all this time,” Yugi said. “I’m glad though.”

“Me too. So you liked the kohl? You look great,” Malik said, folding his hands behind his head.

Yugi blushed, wiping at the corners of his eyes. “This is left over from last night.”

“Ahh, right, there was a tournament, no? I had to reschedule my meeting because of it.”

“What are you doing with Kaiba Corp anyway?” Yugi asked.

Malik glanced around the street. They were alone outside the cafe, the mid-morning weekday street quiet but for the sounds of birds.

“It was my sister’s idea at first. That I could use the connections and methods I acquired when I was running Ghouls to do something good. Something to redeem myself.”

Malik’s magnetic almond eyes darkened in an introspective squint.

“We started to cooperate with different organizations that fought against child abuse and trafficking. I mean, I had contacts in over 20 countries. We’ve done a lot of good work.”

Yugi listened, cheek resting on his open palm, awestruck.

“KC Philanthropy Division reached out to us. I’m not sure if my sister talked to Kaiba or if he found out on his own. But they want to sponsor us, give us resources and facilities. They’ve got branches all over the world too. I’m pretty optimistic.”

The bell on the cafe door jingled and Bakura stepped out with a cup of espresso and a little caddy of sugar packets.

“You’re an angel.” Malik said, gingerly taking the little demitasse cup. He stirred in a packet of raw sugar. “Oh, before I forget,” he said, pulling a little maroon book with gold letterpress embellishments from his back pocket. “For you, from Rishid.” He handed the book to Bakura.

“Ahh thank you. I’m really looking forward to this one.” Yugi peered over at the book. Bakura opened it up between them.

“Poetry?”

Malik nodded, sipping his espresso. “He won an award for the last one. He’s on tour in Europe with his publisher, or he would have come with me here.”

“I’m happy for him,” Bakura said, pocketing the book.

“Me too! Happy for both of you. It seems like you’re making your dreams come true. Living the lives you want to live,” Yugi said.

Malik turned toward Yugi and placed his ring-laden hand on Yugi’s shoulder.

“We owe you, you know. This life we’re creating for ourselves is only possible because you broke the curse.”

Yugi froze for a moment, at a loss. The sincerity of Malik’s intense gaze softened him.

“I just did what I had to do for…for my friends.”

“We should celebrate! It’s the first time we’ve all been together with nothing crazy happening.” Bakura said.

Malik grinned, cheshire white teeth in the golden tan skin of his face practically radiating mischief.

“Tonight. I’m taking us out. I’m only here one more night, we have to do something. What do you say?”

The two of them looked at Yugi, and he paled. He desperately needed a night in, but their good cop/bad cop expressions were rapidly eroding his will to resist.

“Okay, okay. I’ll call Jounouchi.”

“Perrrrfect,” Malik purred. “I hate to go so soon, but I’ve got to run. You know how long it takes to sign in over there.”

“Ah, yeah. We’ll see you later.” Yugi said.

“Thank you for the coffee,” Malik said, tenderly grabbing Bakura’s hand. Yugi raised am eyebrow at Bakura, who flashed him a look that said later.

“I’ll text you guys when I’m out,” Malik said, then offered Yugi his hand. They clasped hands, threaded their pinkie fingers together and squeezed—the tomb guardians’ goodbye.

“Bye bye!” Bakura said, giving a little wave.

Malik mounted a flashy red and white Ducati and put on a matching helmet. Bakura plugged his ears as Malik revved the engine, gave them a salute and sped off.

“That guy’s one of a kind,” Bakura said when the sound died down. “Thank god.”

“Are you…” Yugi said, dangling the question with his wide violet eyes. Bakura looked out at the street. Yugi tried to read his profile, but the soft white hair had covered Bakura’s eyes.

“I had some questions after we left Egypt. I couldn't tell what was a dream and what was a memory. The ring…well there was always mysterious stuff going on, so it wasn’t unusual to find random numbers in my phone. Malik’s was one of them.”

Bakura drained the rest of his latte, now cold, and carefully replaced the cup in the saucer so that it made no sound.

“We got to talking, you know, kind of on the regular. It’s hard to explain but I was very lonely after that all happened. After the ring went away. I think he was too.”

He met Yugi’s eyes and a quiet understanding passed between them.

“And, well. I don’t know how it happened. It just sort of happened.”

“Are you like…dating or something?” Yugi said.

“It’s hard to call it dating when you’re on different continents, but something like that, I guess.”

There was a pregnant quiet during which Bakura hid his eyes again, waiting for Yugi’s reaction.

“Well that’s great. Good for you.”

Bakura looked up, genuinely surprised. His face melted into a smile, and they laughed together at nothing in particular.

“Speaking of long-distance, have you talked to Anzu lately?”

Yugi leaned back in his chair and tucked his bangs behind his ears. “Oh yeah, about a week ago. She’s doing great out there. She’s got a boyfriend and everything.”

Bakura gave Yugi a conciliatory smile.

“They met during that production of The Nutcracker she did. He seems like a nice guy.”

“That’s good.”

They gazed into their empty cups for a long while. Bakura gave a quiet, almost imperceptible sigh.

“I don’t know why, but the first thing I felt when I saw the necklace in the box was jealousy.”

Yugi leaned back, waiting. Trying to give Bakura the space he needed to say what he needed to say.

“He…was not a good person. Definitely not by the time I got to know him. But, we were together for a very long time. When I was a child, when he would whisper things to me, I thought he was my imaginary friend.”

Bakura threaded and unthreaded his fingers over and over again, kept his gaze low on his hands or his coffee cup.

“The part of him that existed before the ring got to him…I don’t approve of the way he was, but I also understand. We were the same age the first time we saw someone die. You know, when I came to and saw my father and Shadi laying on the ground…”

Bakura blinked, silent.

“It’s okay,” Yugi said softly.

“I understand why he was the way he was. Anyone would be that way if they saw that.”

Yugi started to understand. He rubbed the little rough patch on his neck where the chain of the puzzle used to chafe him.

“In the beginning, after I solved the puzzle, I was afraid too. I would black out and wake up next to someone who had been hurt. When he would come out, it felt like,” Yugi rubbed his hands, looking for the words. “Sort of like being suddenly grabbed and blindfolded from behind. It was violent.”

Bakura looked up at him, wide-eyed.

“It took him a long time to ask permission. But after the first time he finally did, it was always like that. I kept the door. I opened it when he asked and I opened it again to let him back inside. He let me have that, so that I could start to trust him.”

Bakura smiled with his lips but his eyes stayed sad. “Is that so?” he said quietly.

“The other me…he fought himself to get better. To become more decent. He had a good foundation to work with, before he was sealed away. I was lucky.”

Yugi gently touched the back of Bakura’s hand, and Bakura desperately clasped Yugi’s hand with both of his own, startling them both.

“There’s nothing you could have done to save him.” Yugi said emphatically. “It seems to me that he had a death wish before he ever found the ring. It wasn’t your job to save him.” Yugi said.

Bakura’s eyes welled up with tears until they silently spilled over, dripping onto their hands. He nodded and sniffled.

“I’m sorry, I…I didn’t mean to get so emotional. It’s a lot. I haven’t talked about him in a long time and I’ve never told anyone in person that I…that I’m…”

Yugi offered Bakura a napkin. “That you’re gay?”

“Yeah,” Bakura said. He blew his nose.

“It’s great! I’m glad you told me. I mean, we could all kind of tell anyway.”

“Really?”

“Really.” Yugi said, smiling.

“I just. I’ve felt like such a freak my whole life. This hair,” he said, picking at a lock of his silvery white hair. “Everything I went through with him…with the ring. I’ve felt alone, like a total outsider my whole life.”

Yugi watched his friend deflate into toneless resignation. His heart ached on Bakura’s behalf.

“You’re not alone. You’re not a freak. We all saw some crazy stuff because of the millennium items. I’ll never know what it was really like for you to deal with someone like that, but I know the pain and the loss of sharing your body. I bet Malik does too.”

Bakura nodded, subdued.

“Plus, you should never feel bad about the way you are or who you love.” Yugi cupped Bakura’s folded hands. “We love you no matter what.”

Bakura brightened. “Me too.”

“Plus,” Yugi glanced around, conspiratorial. He lowered his voice. “I think Kaiba’s gay too.”

They both burst into giggle. Bakura transitioned into open laughter, and Yugi sat back, satisfied, as Bakura wiped the remnants of tears off his face.

“I could have told you that. Takes one to know one,” he said, smoothing down his hair. “How did you find out though?”

Yugi frowned, thoughtful. “It’s hard to describe. We’re working on this project, and I get to sort of…read him. And I just know.”

Bakura sat back and gave Yugi a coy smile. He opened his mouth to speak, then closed it, shook his head a little.

“What?” Yugi said.

“It’s nothing. You should bring it to him. The necklace.” Bakura said. “He’ll know what to do.”

“He will, won’t he.”

Yugi seemed relieved as he took out his phone to text Kaiba, scrolling through the six different numbers in his contact reel to select the one Kaiba used for confidential but personal correspondence. He typed and sent a message, then placed his phone down on the wood table.

“Feel better?” Bakura said.

“Yeah. You too?”

Bakura nodded. “Definitely.”

Yugi’s phone vibrated and the camera flash blinked three times. A response from Kaiba. Yugi lifted his phone.

“That was quick. What did he say?”

Yugi rolled his eyes. “It just says ‘C-lab. One hour.’”

“I’ll walk you to the train,” Bakura said, slipping into his jacket.

 

****

 

“I’ll need you to lay completely still. If there’s any movement at all, it will skew the readings,” Kaiba said, lifting the bay of a large cylindrical machine to reveal a long slab and three sets of data ports.

“I’ll do my best,” Yugi said, gripping his own arms. The plain cotton hospital robe felt thin in the conditioned air of the laboratory.

“You won’t need to. I’m going to place a set of restraints and bracers on you for the duration of the scan.”

Yugi groaned, threaded his hands into his own thick hair and tugged.

“Get in.”

He frowned over at Kaiba’s wide back, at the shoulder blades making little peaks in the thin fabric of the lab coat as Kaiba prepared the scanner from a console on the wall. He steeled himself and laid down on the scanner bed.

“If you insist on being uncooperative, I could always knock you out,” Kaiba said, turning to face Yugi. When he saw the anxiety on Yugi’s face he softened. “Mokuba…administers lorazepam to me when I undergo brain scans. I could do the same for you.”

Kaiba looked so human wearing a standard KC lab coat with pair of reading glasses perched on top of his head—not average, for his eyes still glowed with a cold intensity and his exaggerated proportions made the holo clipboard in his hand look like a toy—but human. Fallible. Yugi relaxed.

“It’s okay, I can handle it.”

Kaiba looked smug. By the time it occurred to Yugi that he’d been played, Kaiba was securing a padded band to his head. He tried to convey his frown through the head restraint.

“This machine reads brain waves and neural activity with extreme accuracy. I’ll provide you with stimulus and the computer will analyze your response. We’ll analyze the data afterwards.” Kaiba said, initializing the machine.

“Is this entirely necessary?” Yugi said, drumming his fingers on his stomach.

“Yes. Not only that, we’ll both need to conduct a sleep study. You’re not the only one having unusual dreams.”

Yugi strained to see Kaiba out of the corner of his eye. Kaiba was gazing at something in his hand, and a sort of reverent awe crossed his face.

“Tell me what you remember from last night.” Kaiba said flatly, a hypnotist’s inflectionless tone.

“I remember coming home…going to sleep…then nothing.”

“What were you dreaming about?”

“I don’t remember.”

Kaiba dangled the necklace from his wide splayed hand, the chain woven around his fingers.

“You were dreaming about him, weren’t you?”

Yugi felt his pulse quicken. Kaiba looming over him, dangling Atem’s necklace was filling him with a restless heat.

“I wasn’t. It was…Mahad was there.”

“Go on.”

“I was in a room. A white room.”

“A room like this one?”

Yugi squinted at the bright fluorescent lights above him.

“No. It was dark. Lit with candles.”

“What else was in the room?

“There were symbols on the walls. I think they were hieroglyphs.”

“What happened in the room?”

“Mahad was telling me something.”

“What was he saying?”

“He was telling me about…I think it was about you.”

Kaiba balled his fist, lifted the necklace above his own head so he could gaze up at it.

“When he addressed you, did he call you by your Horace name?”

Yugi was speechless. The answer stuck in his throat, jut outside his own comprehension.

Kaiba was suddenly leaning over him, his blue eyes clear and emotionless. He lifted Yugi’s wrist from where it lay at his side and dropped the necklace into Yugi’s upturned palm. Kaiba covered Yugi’s hand with his own, closed Yugi’s fingers around the pendant. 

“I…I’m not sure.” Yugi said softly.

Kaiba let his hand go.

“That’s enough for now. I have the data I need.”

Kaiba walked to the other side of the room to deactivate the scanner. Yugi pressed his fist with the necklace to his chest and sighed, feeling like he had failed somehow.

Kaiba returned to remove the restraints. “It’s as I suspected. Atypical neural oscillations. I had similar scan results this morning.”

Kaiba helped Yugi sit up. Yugi rubbed his temples.

“What does it mean?”

“Theta wave spikes this extreme in amplitude during waking consciousness is highly unusual.” Kaiba said, swiping through the readout on his holo clipboard. “When you had moments of brief recall,” Kaiba pointed to two spikes in the dataset with his stylus, “your theta wave activity was two standard deviations ahead of the mean…for a sleep state.”

Yugi chuckled. “So…what does it mean?”

Kaiba smirked. “To distill it for you, you have flashes of a waking dream state. A split of the locus of consciousness between present sensory awareness and the generative but subconscious awareness of a dream state. But, rather than halving the activity in each region, as one would expect, your neural activity doubled in both areas.”

“Is this because of PowerLink?”

Kaiba placed his clipboard on a table. He shined a pen light into Yugi’s right eye, then the left.

“I don’t know for sure, but I intend to find out. Can you come back tonight for a sleep study?”

Yugi hemmed as Kaiba slipped a blood pressure cuff on his arm. “Well, you know, Malik is here, and he wanted us to go out tonight…”

Kaiba watched the numbers oscillate and then settle on the digital display of the monitor. “Your vitals are perfectly normal. It can wait until tomorrow night.”

Yugi was pleased. “I’m gonna live, doc?”

Kaiba rolled his eyes. “I won’t accept your failure to live until I’ve repaid you for the match I lost a year ago.”

Yugi laughed. Typical Kaiba.

“Do you want to come with us? Out tonight?”

Yugi watched Kaiba’s shoulders tense and then relax. Kaiba smirked, and Yugi steeled himself for some cutting little monologue about the frivolous nature of fun-having, when Kaiba crossed his arms and said, “Fine.”

“Really?”

Kaiba lifted his chin, staring at Yugi down his own nose.

“On one condition.”

“Okay.”

“You meet me in the E-branch gymnasium at 5pm. You’re going to be Jounouchi’s handicap.”

“Oh god,” Yugi said. “Do I want to know?”

“Wear suitable gym clothes.”


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Malik with the clever mouth and the modern vices; Atem, like a prayer, Atem.

Yugi was doubled over, panting, one hand braced on his knee as be dribbled the ball with his other hand. Sweat trickled past his ears and dripped down onto the polished wood floor of the gym. He glanced up just in time to see Kaiba make a shot from clear across the court to swoosh neatly into the basket, soundless but for the bounce when it hit the floor again.

“That’s our match!” Mokuba said, pumping his fist in the air. “Better luck next time, you guys.”

“Kaiba you freak! You’re what, 6’2”? We shoulda had a handicap.” Jounouchi yelled, placing a big warm hand on Yugi’s back.

“I’d be much obliged to give you a handicap,Jounouchi Katsuya.” Kaiba called from the other side of the court, grinning with faux malice.

It had been a blitz match, a game Mokuba called Around the Universe, a modified version of Around the World. Both teams raced around the court to make shots from five different points, neither team progressing until both teammates had made all five shots in order, without missing—five times in a row. If they missed, they had to run back to the starting point and try again. Jounouchi had gone first, beating Mokuba for time by three shots when he tagged Yugi in. But by the time Yugi had sunk the second shot, Kaiba was half way around the court already.

“Okay!” Mokuba clapped and rubbed his hands together. “Game set match! Time to settle up,” he said cheerfully, trotting to the center of the court. “Come on, you guys.”

“Sorry, Jounouchi!” Yugi said as they walked. “I’m sorry!”

“It’s okay, man. This was a dirty match.” Jounouchi said, and pointed to his own eyes, then at Mokuba, insinuating I’m watching you.

The Kaiba brothers lined up on one side of the center line, and Yugi reluctantly stepped next to Jounouchi to mirror them.

“Okay, repeat after me.” Mokuba said. “I, Jounouchi Katsuya, do hereby pledge, in accordance with the agreement upon which I shook the hand of one Kaiba Mokuba,” Mokuba paused and made an expectant little circle with his hand.

“I, Jounouchi Katsuya, do hereby…ugh. Whatever, we shook hands, so I agree.”

“I agree to allow my sister, Kawai Shizuka, to go on an unsupervised date with one Kaiba Mokuba, even though she’s totally old enough to decide that for herself, and also I solemnly promise, as per the terms of the agreement, which I sealed upon losing this game of basketball, not to text her until tomorrow morning.” Mokuba said, carefully enunciating the last words.

Jounouchi groaned.

“I agree.” He thrust out his hand, and Mokuba shook it with relish.

“But be like…a gentleman, all right?” Jounouchi said, gripping Mokuba’s shoulders. “Like, courting, like its the 50s or something. Buy her a rootbeer float or something. No weed and definitely no Netflix,” Jounouchi whispered, narrowing his eyes.

“And don’t forget the security protocols,” Kaiba said, folding his arms.

Mokuba grinned and flashed them a double thumbs up.

“Gotcha, gotcha.”

“And no later than 11PM.” Kaiba said.

“Oh come on!” Mokuba tugged his brother’s elbow.

“Midnight. No later. I’m telling Isono.”

Yugi couldn't help but smile. He tried to memorize Mokuba’s flushed elation, the sheen on Jounouchi’s tan skin, the cut of Kaiba’s wide shoulders in a rare sweatsuit. If he could take these memories with him, he would show his other self some day.

“Yugi.”

Yugi bristled. Kaiba only used that tone of voice when he was about to issue a challenge.

“As per our agreement, I’ll meet you in lobby at 7.”

“Sounds good.” Yugi said, suddenly sheepish.

“Bye bye guys!” Mokuba said, already jogging over toward to locker rooms. Kaiba walked out the front entrance, toward the elevator bay that went to his private office suite.

“That kid.” Jounouchi said, running his hands through his hair. “Think he’s a good match? For Shizuka?”

“She seems really happy,” Yugi said.

“She does huh.” Jounouchi “Guess I better get used to this,” Jounouchi said, looking around the room.

“You’ll be part of the dynasty,” Yugi said.

“Second degree royalty.” Jounouchi said, thumbing his nose.

“It doesn’t sound half bad,” Yugi said, hooking Jounouchi’s elbow with his own and pulling them both toward the locker room.

“Yeah but you only say that because you like Kaiba.” Jounouchi said, exaggerated unpleasantness dripping from his voice.

“He’s not so bad once you get to know him,” Yugi said as they sat down on the locker room benches.

“I don’t know, its been five years,” Jounouchi said, untying his shoes. “When will I get to know him?”

Yugi pulled his sweatshirt over his head and then hung it from his arm. He swirled the combo lock dial on his locker. “It takes time with him. Lots of layers to get through. A little patience goes a long way.”

Jounouchi threw his own t-shirt on the ground and pulled a towel from his locker.

“You could really make friends with a tree. With a rock. Onions have layers, I bet you could get to the heart of an onion and find a true friend.”

“And what’s wrong with that?” Yugi said.

With a practiced, automatic coordination, they looped their towels around their waists and kicked their boxers off.

“There’s nothing wrong with it. That’s why everybody loves you.”

They turned their showers on at the same time, hung their towels at the same time. This was a dance that invented itself back in high school, out of Jounouchi’s instinct to protect Yugi from bullies in gym class. They entered and left the locker room together, showered together, made the right amount of chit chat to diffuse any awkwardness. By now they had it down to a science, running on instinct. The routine was comforting to the both of them, despite the fact that it had outlived its original purpose.

“You’re coming tonight right?” Yugi said, craning his neck to keep his wiry hair out of the water stream as he quickly lathered his body with soap from the dragon-shaped soap dispenser in the shower.

“I’m staying home tonight. You go paint the town red. Pour one out for ol uncle Katsuya.”

“Aww, why?”

Jounouchi finished rinsing and twisted the handle to shut off the shower. He fluffed his hair and began to pat his body dry.

“If I’m being honest?” he bunched his shoulders up, eyes distant. “I still can’t really relax around Malik.”

“Ah.” Yugi said.

“I don’t hate him, I just feel kind of weird whenever I see him. He got inside my head.” Jounouchi shook his head as if to clear the feeling. “He almost killed you.”

Yugi pulled on the ends of his bangs, squeezing out the moisture. After a moment he said, “I understand. I do.”

“Nothing against the guy. I know he came around. You’ll have fun.”

“It’s okay. I’m gonna try and make it an early night myself. I’m exhausted and I’m backed up on inventory at the store.”

Yugi pulled on his black waxed denim jeans and a vintage black pac-man shirt with the sleeves cut off, both relics of a shopping trip with his other self. He slipped on his favorite studded cuff on his left hand and tied a braided leather band around his right. He considered the boots, his favorite, that he’d worn there but opted to keep the black Converse sneakers with white binding and laces that he’d worn to play basketball. He looked at himself in the mirror.

“Sure you’re not going on a date and the whole Malik thing is just a cover?” Jounouchi mumbled as he tied his sneakers.

Yugi wasn’t listening. He was trying to figure out what was missing. He went back to the locker and pulled his collar from his bag. There was a glint off the treasure box as the bag shifted open and Yugi carefully opened it and took out the pendant from inside.

“Is that the Yug—I mean, Atem’s necklace?” Jounouchi said.

Yugi looked at it a long time.

“Yeah.”

He slipped it on and secured the clasp.

“Looks good.” Jounouchi said, and they shared a moment of bittersweet grief. Jounouchi shook himself into motion and hugged Yugi around the head, messing up his hair.

“All right, let’s jet!”

“Yup,” Yugi said, and they closed up their lockers and headed towards the elevators.

“You’re bringing Kaiba?” Jounouchi said, hitting the button for the ground floor.

Yugi shrugged. “He’s my friend.”

“Admit it, you just didn’t want to take the train.”

The elevators opened on the lobby and they stepped out. Isono was waiting for them near the tall glass doors.

“Mr. Jounouchi, your car is ready.”

Jounouchi looked at Yugi and they both shrugged.

“Good night, Uncle Katsuya.”

“Oi, don’t have too much fun without me.”

They bumped fists and traded grins.

“Impossible.” Yugi said.

Isono led Jounouchi outside and Yugi walked over to the fountain in the middle of the lobby. A Blue-Eyes Ultimate Dragon carved from marble dropped clear streams of water into a shallow black granite pool. Lights in the mouths colored the water in a rotation of purple and yellow and teal. Yugi let his eyes unfocus, tried to center himself by timing his breathing with the changes of the lights. He watched the cycle happen once, twice, three times, before he felt the presence of someone behind him.

He turned to see Kaiba standing quietly, watching him with those intense, unreadable eyes.

Yugi watched back for a moment. Kaiba was wearing close-fitting black chinos with a black cashmere v-neck sweater. He was wearing a pair of shiny but well broken-in chelsea boots and a white blazer was slung over one arm. He looked undone without the trademark jacket, less the warrior but more dangerous for how relatively understated his dress was. He looked good.

“Kaiba.” Yugi said, slipping his hands into his pockets to hide his nervousness.

“Let’s go.” Kaiba said, turning quickly toward the doors.

It took the changing of the fountain lights from blue to purple for Yugi to unfreeze himself and follow after Kaiba, sound of flowing water and the click of Kaiba’a boots in his ears.

 

****

 

Bakura took a long drag on the mouthpiece. He puffed out his chest, parted his lips a little, blew out a little cloud of smoke. He repositioned his tongue and tried again.

“No, like this,” Malik said, grabbing the hose from him. Malik settled the mouthpiece in the corner of his mouth and took a quick but deep puff. He formed his small but full mouth into a perfect O and puffed out, one, two, three, and sent three neat little smoke rings floating above their heads.

“I don’t know…Yugi, you try,” Bakura said, peering over the ornately figured hookah that sat on a low table between them. He plucked the last olive from a little plate between them and put it in his mouth.

Yugi lifted the hose to his lips and took a deep drag. His left eye watered but he steadied himself. He made a little O with his lips and puffed. The first exhale was formless, the second a weak oval, but the third was a small, clear ring.

“See? It’s easier than you think,” Malik said, handing the hose back to Bakura. Bakura tried again, but what came out was just a rushed cloud.

Kaiba put down his cup of Turkish coffee and extended his open hand to Yugi, who handed him the hose. He took a deep drag, leaned back and executed a languid French inhale followed by a dense and precise smoke ring.

“It’s child’s play. I’ve literally seen children blow better smoke rings,” he said.

Malik laughed and took the hose from a sheepish Bakura.

“This is why the world needs our organization, and your support. All those orphans smoking hookah pipes in shacks and stealing from tourists for subsistence could be playing DuelLinks instead, right?” Malik said.

Kaiba raised his coffee cup and Malik raised his hose with its carved wooden handle, an informal toast to their new partnership.

“It will give vulnerable children direct recourse for change. If just one child in every community progresses in the Links world, they can make allegiances with children on the other side of the world. If a child in Germany saves his allowance to buy card games, video games, candy, the links world will not only awaken him to the possibility of spending what to him is an insignificant trifle on something meaningful, like helping his gaming partner bring plumbing to their village; it will also give him the ability to do so directly,” Kaiba said.

Malik nodded and said, “We’ve devised a way to subsidize the administration of an organization that will re-distribute wealth invested in the Links world to the children who need it most. My organization will make DuelLinks hardware available to children in these marginalized communities, both victims of abuse or trafficking cases that we’ve already worked with and also children who show promise based on a dueling aptitude test devised by the developmental psychology research trust at Kaiba Institute.”

“But how will you find those children?” Yugi said, cupping an earthenware mug of mint tea.

“Same way we deal with the abuse cases: field agents. More than 85% of our field agents are already duelists, since they were recruited or converted from the associations I made when I was controlling the rare hunters,” Malik said.

“We’ll fund safe spaces for vulnerable children to access and play the game in countries that cannot sustain commercial Kaibalands. This generation of linked children will build solutions for one another outside of the exploitive influence of governments and economies.” Kaiba said.

Malik took a deep drag from the hookah pipe and handed the hose to Bakura. He blew a thick and even ring of smoke, then gently pushed it forward with his hand. As it hovered above them he blew three fast, small rings that flew through the center of the larger one before dissipating into the hazy air.

“It’s a very ambitious program. But it’ll be true magic if it works,” he said.

“It sounds like the kind of thing that would draw the attention of greedy people,” Bakura said.

Kaiba nodded and exhaled two smooth streams of smoke from his nostrils.

“We’ll have to be very meticulous about how we account for distributing funds and resources in different countries.But the accounting department of the philanthropy division is literally the best in the world,” he said with a smug smile.

“The first step is to connect children and allow for a flow of communication and information,” Malik said.

“Do you think it will really solve humanitarian crises? Giving underprivileged children access to a video game?” Bakura said.

“Video game is the wrong word.” Yugi said, leaning forward. “The Links world is a collective projection of an alternate reality, created by our connected consciousness. It’s as real to your experience as anything you can see and feel right now, and it grows and changes organically like our world.”

Kaiba folded his arms, crossed his long legs. He smiled, letting Yugi say what they were both thinking.

“Link world is real enough to the mind to have significant physical effects on the body. I may not bleed if my avatar gets cut, but the experience of being wounded will raise my stress hormones and even potentially cause swelling or a pain signal or a healing response in the area my brain identified as being effected,” Yugi said.

“Not only that, we hypothesize,” Kaiba flashed Yugi a secretive look, “that concentrated will drives can resonate using the Neurons-derived technology called PowerLink to a degree that is significant enough to alter our physical reality.”

“You’re talking about ESP,” Bakura said, eyes wide.

“Not exactly,” Yugi said. “Remember when I…when the other me would duel? And he would pull the card he needed in the most crucial time?”

There was quiet all around as they reverently, wordlessly agreed.

“Well, that wasn’t luck. That was willpower. A powerful determination to victory. The fact that he knew exactly what he needed to create that outcome focused his mind. I could feel it from inside when he did it.” Yugi absently reached for the puzzle that wasn’t there. “It was a single-mindedness, a focal point where he directed his whole awareness. The card he needed. And it appeared on top of the deck every time.”

He smiled, remembering that feeling of shared exhilaration every time they drew the hoped-for, game-winning card. He continued.

“I feel like we all do it to some degree. Jounouchi does it, it’s how he’s able to consistently pull wins out of a chance deck. I did a little reading, you know, and it doesn’t seem so far fetched to me. The idea that conscious awareness changes the physical outcome—they proved that with those experiments with light right?” Yugi looked at Kaiba. “The quantum observer changes the nature of light from a wave to a particle.”

“Your explanation is pseudoscientific at best. The truth is more complicated than that, but in essence, you aren’t entirely wrong.” Kaiba said. “In fact…”

Kaiba glanced around the hazy little restaurant, the one singular establishment in Domino owned and operated by Egyptian ex-pats. Malik had brought them there, but Kaiba had discretely instructed the the maître d’ to turn away other patrons for the rest of the night. They were more or less alone, one or two low tables on the other side of the restaurant still occupied with guests finishing their shisha, the light from the coals under the ornate windguards making the silver pillars of each hookah look like arabesque lighthouses. Kaiba lowered his voice.

“Data from the coliseum monitors cut out for the duration of our duel with Diva,” he said, shifting to face Yugi. “My own DuelDisk recorded nothing between the time my lifepoints dropped to zero and the time I woke up. But the data from your DuelDisk had no gaps. I thought the it was corrupted at first because the readings were so erratic. It took six months to interpret. It finally revealed an accurate but astounding representation of what was happening to your body during that time.”

Yugi’s eyes went wide. “What do you mean?”

Kaiba paused, chin high. Then he shrugged.

“It’s not confidential data anymore, so I may as well tell you. You experienced significant autonomous nervous system activity after my disk stopped recording. Your body rapidly adjusted—faster than should be medically possible. From that point on there were two neuronal signatures, two distinct brainwave patterns. Two determinative drives coalescing at significant timestamps.”

“Well, we…we’re different people,” Yugi said softly, eyes distant.

Kaiba looked down his nose at Yugi, and Yugi couldn’t tell if the faintly pained expression meant awe or covert disdain.

“When I compared the readings to the records we had on the Prana called Sera, I determined that your neural activity is similar in frequency, with a few vital differences. During the duel with Diva, Atem’s neural activity peaked directly before the draw phase—presumably in an effort to manifest an outcome. At those moments your neuronal activity oscillated in such a way as to resonate with his, causing an increase in the amplitude of his thought patterns.”

“What he did, the monster he drew. It was a new monster, one I’d never seen before.”

“A strong and clear manifestation of reality-altering will,” Kaiba said.

“Yugi boosted the pharaoh’s mental power?” Malik said.

“It’s more like…” Kaiba steepled his fingers and squinted. “One sets up the shot, the other executes it. I’ve tried unsuccessfully to replicate the process with an AI designed to copy Yugi’s brainwaves, but the result was almost fatally unstable.”

“But we did…something like that when we summoned that fusion monster,” Yugi said.

“Yes. Because your brainwaves did precisely what they did during the duel with Diva…albeit at about 15% intensity.”

Yugi looked at him incredulously. Malik and Bakura shared a look but said nothing. Kaiba took a sip of water.

In the dense silence, Yugi fidgeted with the pendant around his neck. He traced the hieroglyphs with his thumb, trying to remember what he felt in those moments when Atem would make the perfect draw. It was a deep faith in his ability…a confidence, a trust…a support and openness. It was love. An unconditional, all-encompassing love.

“Is that a cartouche?” Malik said, half to break the silence.

Yugi felt like he’d been caught doing something intimate. “Yeah.” He cupped it in his hand, lifted his chin and tipped his open palm toward Malik. 

Malik read the hieroglyphs and smiled. “Praise on the name of the king.”

Bakura nodded. Kaiba threaded his long fingers together and pressed them to his forehead, closing his eyes, whether in prayer or in annoyance Yugi couldn’t tell.

Bakura took a drag from the hose, exciting the dwindling coal above. The sound of the bubbling water made Yugi giggle a little, and they all relaxed as he tucked the pendant back into his shirt.

Malik caught the eye of the proprietor across the room and made a discrete gesture, to which the proprietor grinned broadly and nodded toward Kaiba.

“Seto! You’re too fast for me. Thank you.”

“Yeah, thank you!” Bakura said.

Kaiba gave a smug little smile and shrugged. “It’s nothing.”

“I’m glad you came out. I know it’s a busy time for all of us,” Malik said.

“This was fun,” Yugi said, smiling.

“Malik’s flight leaves early tomorrow, we should probably get going,” Bakura said, checking his phone.

They all stood.

“I look forward to a new kind of rare hunting,” Kaiba said, offering Malik his large hand.

“I’ll find the minds you’re looking for,” Malik said.

They shook hands and Bakura gave Yugi a warm hug.

“Home safe you guys,” Yugi said. “Hope I see you soon, Malik.”

“Me too,” Malik said, helping Bakura into his coat.

“Send your sister my regards,” Kaiba said.

“And Rishid,” Yugi said.

“Of course,” Malik said.

Kaiba went to get his jacket from the coat check and Yugi watched Malik and Bakura head toward the door. They were laughing and talking softly, and Malik had his arm around Bakura’s waist. They looked natural, easy.

Yugi caught Kaiba out of the corner of his eye as he walked back, jacket slung over one shoulder. He was watching them too, with a knowing half-smile.

“Kind of an odd couple, don’t you think?” Yugi said.

“Hardly. Hardship in early life breeds solidarity. Lost boys always find each other,” Kaiba said knowingly.

They could hear Malik’s Ducati ripping down the street as they got into the waiting towncar. Before long the lights of Domino were streaking their faces blue and yellow through the tinted windows.

“Can I see the data you were talking about? My brainwaves?” Yugi said.

Kaiba narrowed his eyes, appraising Yugi—Yugi, fists balled in his lap, jaw set, eyes bright.

“Isono, take us back to HQ.”

“Yes, Seto-sama.”

They rode in silence for a long while.

“If you’re going to come to the lab to review the data, we may as well conduct the sleep study tonight,” Kaiba said, looking out the window.

“That’s okay with me,” Yugi said, pulling out his phone to type a quick text his grandfather.

Kaiba pulled up the sleeve of his sweater, revealing the silver gauntlet underneath. He curled his hand in to press a stud on his inner wrist and held it to his lips.

“Mokuba,” he spoke into the gauntlet.

There was a brief moment of static and then a high feedback whine. Then a sharp click, then silence. Kaiba clenched his teeth.

“Isono,” he said curtly to the partition.

“Seto-sama, we are aware of Mokuba’s position. He has detail-3 coverage from a distance of five meters. May I suggest you rest in the assurance of his safety.”

Yugi quirked an eyebrow at Kaiba and smiled, raising his hands in a gesture of resignation.

Kaiba softened. “Very well.”

They pulled up to the entrance to a private parking garage on the south side of the building and Isono extended his arm out the driver’s side window to hold his RFID tag up to the sensor. The gate opened slowly.

“Shall I accompany you to into the building?” he said as they pulled up to a bolted door.

“That won’t be necessary,” Kaiba said. “Goodnight, Isono.”

“Goodnight, Seto-sama.”

Kaiba exited the town car, stepped around it and opened Yugi’s door.

“Thanks,” Yugi said, sliding out.

“This way,” Kaiba said, leading them toward a corner of the garage. Isono slowly pulled away, and Kaiba stood in front of a supporting concrete pillar. He ran his fingers over the yellow paint that banded the column until his index hit an indent. The column parted with a hydraulic hiss, revealing a one-man service elevator.

“After you,” he said, and Yugi stepped in.

It was tight in the elevator, and Yugi was reminded of how small he felt whenever he stood next to Kaiba. With their ten-inch height difference, Yugi’s eyes were about level with Kaiba’s collarbone. Yugi could feel the heat from Kaiba’s body on the back of his thighs, and he could smell the faint scent of a vetiver and labdanum, some expensive cologne. He counted the floors as they descended to distract himself.

Six floors down, the elevator chimed, and Kaiba reached around Yugi to press his thumb onto the rear exit lock. The doors opened onto a long hallway lit on either side by LEDs in the floor. They stepped out together and Yugi began to walk down the hallway, but Kaiba placed a hand on his shoulder, halting him. The walkway began to move, conveying them forward.

“Welcome, Mr. Kaiba,” said a synthesized voice from the ceiling. “Neural print registered. Welcome, Mr. Mutou.”

“Oh wow. It can scan our brainwaves without a headset?”

“It can do much more than that,” Kaiba said. “This is my private laboratory. Even Mokuba needs clearance for entry.”

Yugi watched in amazement as Kaiba rapidly tapped on holofields projected to his left and right with both hands, solving puzzles framed in maths and programming languages and chess moves, each screen counting the time to his solutions in milliseconds.

“Competency demonstrated. Access granted,” said the synthesized voice.

The conveyer belt came to a gentle stop before a wall with a small keypad on it, and Kaiba reached under his collar for the card-shaped locket. He pulled it over his head and inserted it into a slit on the top of the keypad.

There was a hiss and a rush of air as the wall parted, opening on a huge laboratory. It was a maze of ordered chaos, computer terminals and workspaces lining every wall, and half-completed prototypes hung or shelved or suspended from the ceiling. There was a large rolling glass panel covered with erasable paint marker sketches of rejected headset and DuelDisk designs. Along the far wall was a long counter with an eye and hand washing station, an emergency shower and a first aid kit. There was a partition in the counter, and on the other side was a rudimentary kitchen, a small white couch and an arm chair.

“This way,” Kaiba said, walking to a central station that housed several physical screens, arms for projecting holofields, and a large chair with a swiveling keyboard. Kaiba gestured to the chair and Yugi tentatively sat down in it, his feet dangling. The wide back and high-placed lumbar curve felt comically large, like he was a child sitting in an easy chair.

“Access code YM0604 dash 2, subtask 3,” Kaiba said, swiping down a holofield.

Yugi watched a stream of data flow on the screen before him. Kaiba tapped and swiped through different views, pinching the readout to enlarge it.

“Here is your last draw phase before my disk cuts out. And here,” he said, indicating a peak in the graph, “is where we start to register two neural patterns.”

Yugi’s heart sped up a bit as he took in the graph. Here was proof of his other self.

“This is your baseline vital readout at the moment of entry,” Kaiba said, swiping over a side menu so they could view it. “187 over 120 for your blood pressure and 113 BPM for pulse—indicative of a potentially fatal hypertensive crisis. EEG readout indicates what can only be described as seizure-like activity. Until you apply the algorithm to the graph.”

Kaiba perched on the arm of the chair and swiveled the keyboard around. He typed a few lines into a command prompt on the holofield and the graph split in two.

“Here. Your EEG reading. The one above,” Kaiba pointed a long slim finger, “is Atem’s.”

Yugi scanned the readings. “Here,” he said, indicating areas where both readings peaked, “is this what you meant, where we manifested an outcome?”

“This is the draw phase,” Kaiba said, indicating a region of relatively stable activity. “Two seconds prior, there is activity roughly concentrated in his parietal lobe, then the occipital, indicating a form of visualization.” Kaiba swiped another menu down, twin models of the brain with different regions highlighted in pink.

“Mere milliseconds after that activity in his brain, your corpus collosum connects disparate cortices to create a complex resonance. And here,” Kaiba said, pinching the graphs so they were overlaid, Atem’s baseline brain activity in purple and Yugi’s in red, “you can see the reciprocity, a sort of neural call and response. This pattern of activity and hyperactivation of the corpus collosum is, if I’m correct in my analysis, a snapshot of quantum activity in the brain.”

Yugi considered the data, hand on his chin. “I guess you were right,” he said, looking up at Kaiba. “About occult nonsense. Leave it to you to find the science behind magic.”

“All magic is disguised science. The universe obeys a set of principals, period. We simply haven’t uncovered all the principals yet.”

Kaiba activated a second holofield. “Access Code TRA dash 1025, subtask 2. Here,” he said, opening a graph with pink and blue overlaid datasets, “is the data from when I crossed,” Kaiba narrowed his eyes, brows furrowed, “to where he is.”

Yugi gasped.

“My readings in blue. The data in pink is output from an AI I programmed to react to my brainwaves with your oscillstory resonance patterns. I was only able to run such a complex program because of quantum components we reverse engineered from the pieces of the millennium cube left by Diva.”

Kaiba stood and let out a sigh ofwithheld aggravation.

“As you can see, its an incredibly unstable process. When I was on the other side, my body was undimensioning minute by minute. I was there for one, maybe two hours. And half of it was wasted finding the palace where he was.”

Yugi’s eyes were distant but he was grinning. He couldn’t help himself, imagining the palace, its people…Atem.

“When you first told me about what you did, digging up the puzzle, I was shocked. Angry, even,” Yugi said, turning in the chair to face Kaiba. “I was worried for you, that you couldn’t let go of him. It was hard for me, you know. But I had a long time to prepare for it. I knew before anyone that we would have to send him back.”

Kaiba was wide-eyed, silent.

“I understood your desire. I still do. But at that time it felt wrong.” Yugi touched his solar plexus, imagining the familiar heat that would radiate out when he would give control to his other self. “But now…”

“Now?” Kaiba said, impatient and a little anxious. Yugi met Kaiba’s wild eyes and held them.

“One of the last things he said to me that day, at the coliseum. You know, before he returned to his world,” Yugi smiled, “ was ‘we will meet again.’ I didn’t think it would be so soon.”

A pained look crossed Kaiba’s face, and he broke eye contact. He typed a passcode into the holofield to his right and a column of light illuminated the center of the desk in front of Yugi.

“Release the Dimension Cube,” he said.

“Yes, Mr. Kaiba,” came the synthesized reply.

Slowly, the cube descended from an aperture in the ceiling, and stopped to hover in the light field right above the desk. Kaiba passed his large hand through the field and gently removed the cube. He extended it to Yugi.

“This is what will bring us to him. It’s my hypothesis that your presence will stabilize us and keep us there long enough.”

“Long enough for what?” Yugi said, carefully taking the cube in both hands.

“I hope to find out when we get there. You’ve been dreaming too, haven’t you?”

Yugi gently turned the cube over. It was cool and heavy in his hands, a familiar weight to the unfamiliar shape. “That’s right.”

“The results of the sleep study tonight will help me determine how soon we can leave. Mokuba and his team have finished construction of the launch pod. The rest is up to us.”

Yugi placed the cube into the column of light. Kaiba closed the holofields and the cube ascended up through the aperture once more.

“Let’s go. It’s getting late,” Kaiba said.

Yugi hopped out of the chair and took one last look around the lab.

“Thank you. For showing me.”

Kaiba nodded and led them out the hallway, to the conveyer. He rubbed the bridge of his nose as they floated toward the elevator. Yugi yawned, stretching his arms high above his head.

“Good night, Mr. Kaiba,” said the synthesized voice as they entered the elevator.

The floors passed by, one after the other after the other. They must be going all the way to the penthouse, Yugi thought. His eyes watered, bleary, as he stared up at Kaiba’s wide back in the tight space of the elevator. He leaned his forehead against the space between Kaiba’s shoulderblades. Kaiba stiffened, but slowly relaxed.

“You’re tired.”

“It’s like one AM,” Yugi said, his voice muffled by Kaiba’s sweater.

“There should be pyjamas in the righthand locker when we get out. Guest toiletries are in the second drawer in the bathroom. I’ll meet you in the second to last room to put on the monitors,” Kaiba said as the elevator chimed, opening finally onto a skylit anteroom, sparsely but tastefully decorated in trademark white.

“Okay,” Yugi said, bending down to unlace his shoes.

There was a moment where Kaiba was struck with the urge to sink his fingers into Yugi’s mass of spiky hair. It looked so much like Mokuba’s used to, wild and wiry, thick and glossy. He knew better than to try.

Kaiba hung his sport coat in the entryway and ran his hands through his own hair instead. He walked to the compact kitchen and lit the burner under a kettle of water. He left the water to boil, and went to move a roller cart from a closet of equipment into the far bedroom. He was connecting a tablet to the console in the cart when he heard the kettle whistle.

By the time he came back with a cup of instant coffee, Yugi was sitting on the bed in his boxers and a comically oversized blue silk pyjama top, open on his bare chest. The pendant gleamed against his pale skin.

Yugi shrugged. “The bottoms just fell off.”

Kaiba laughed to himself and shook his head. He clipped an oxygen monitor on Yugi’s outstretched finger and, one-by-one, peeled the adhesive off tiny monitor disks and stuck them onto Yugi’s body. Yugi bent in time with Kaiba’s large hands, compliant and relaxed.

“I know the drill by now,” Yugi said, gently bending his head forward so Kaiba could stick the final monitor to the back of his neck.

“Next time you can apply them yourself,” Kaiba said, a note of something pinched in his voice.

Kaiba moved a plush white velvet chair next to the bed, and set the tablet and his coffee on a nearby end table.

“If anything abnormal happens, I’ll be monitoring the readouts. But as much as you can, try and treat this like a regular night’s sleep.”

“You’re not gonna sleep,” Yugi said, brows raised.

Kaiba blew on his coffee. “I’ll sleep in the next dimension.”

Yugi felt a little guilty as he nestled himself under the thick comforter, mindful of the wires as he found a comfortable position.

Kaiba lowered the lights from his tablet, and the only light left in the room was the green glow of the monitors and the soft blue light of the tablet illuminating Kaiba’s face, his cobalt blue eyes phosphorescent in the near-dark.

“Goodnight, Seto.” Yugi said.

Kaiba’s eyes widened a fraction, then softened, half-lidded. He quietly said,

“Goodnight.”


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When two become one, and the sum is three.

Mahad meditated, preparing himself for the coming storm. He lifted his head to the wind, testing the briny air. The wind was against them. Water slipped silently around the hundred foot wood barque in the thinly starlit dark. There was a rustling sound as the hull dipped fore and then rocked back aft, see-sawing gently before stilling once more. He knew in that moment they had come. He opened his eyes.

The magician turned toward the form that had materialized on the deck: two figures crouched together, the taller cradling the smaller as they huddled tightly in the humid, fragrant air. Kaiba’s long limbs were curled around Yugi like a spider with its catch, his right fist balled around a long golden was scepter, braced against the deck of the boat. There was a fear, a frozenness, that made them look like lovers from Pompei, calcified in a final moment of desperate consolation.

“Go forth, thou spirit of ice: float away,” he said, waving his long emerald green scepter over them.

It was Kaiba who unfurled first, lurching up on one knee. He lifted his right arm, using the golden scepter to pull himself upright. His fingers were scraped from pressing into the wood. He sucked the blood from his knuckle and gripped Yugi’s shoulder and shook it gently.

“Yugi.”

Yugi was sitting in the fetal position, arms curled around his knees, a blue faience ankh cradled against his naked chest. It clinked against the pendant he wore as he lifted his head to look around.

They took a moment to get their bearings. Yugi got up on one knee and faltered. Kaiba pulled Yugi up by the arm and they stood precariously like baby deer in the gently rocking boat. Yugi picked at the kilt on his hips, white linen under a pleated indigo sash, secured with a golden brooch in the shape of a wadjet. Kaiba was smoothing down his own kilt: over it, looping from his shoulders to his hips was the pelt of a leopard. Yugi turned around, finally setting eyes on Mahad.

“Mahad! Where are we,” he said.

“This is Atet,” Mahad said, sweeping aside his long cloak to gesture down the length of the boat. “The barque of a thousand years. The millenium ship.”

They squinted in the dark. They were in a long, elaborately figured boat: a king’s boat. Its mast bore a painted sail, more form than functional. They were standing at the front of the boat. Behind them, at the other end, was a thatched cabin, its contents shrouded in darkness.

“Why have you brought us here,” Kaiba said, instinct bringing him into a warrior’s wide stance, the scepter held menacingly in front of him.

“This is the night ship’s journey. You’re here because you belong here,” Mahad said sternly, inclining his own scepter, a stylized djed with an oblong emerald at the top.

Yugi put a cautionary hand on Kaiba’s elbow, and Kaiba dropped his arm down, the forked end of the scepter making a little click as it touched the deck.

“This is the sun god’s boat, isn’t it?” Yugi said, glancing down the length of the ship. “We’re here to protect the sun god.”

Mahad nodded. “You’re here to fight Apep. The chaos beast.”

At that moment there was the sound of sloshing water and a deep rumble. Mahad took his place next to Yugi and raised up his staff.

“Remember our training, master. It’s buried in your heart, hidden in the mist of dreams. Remember,” Mahad said. Then turning to Kaiba he said, with a reverent nod:

“Set—you whom the world calls Kaiba. The sun’s journey depends on your strength. We’re counting on you.”

The lean taut muscles in Kaibas forearms twisted as he clenched his balled fists. There was a rush and a fine mist of water and he turned just in time to lay eyes upon the enormous, twisting black form of a serpent that rose in coils on either side of the barque. It was blacker than black, like it sucked all the light from the pinpoint stars, indistinct in all its features but for two glowing, slitted red eyes and the sucking gravity of its cavernous maw, more sensed than seen.

“Now, warriors. Now!” Mahad said, stepping back with one leg to brace himself as he unleashed burst after burst of pulsing black magic.

Yugi’s eyes were wild-wide and his heart was pounding in his chest, so hard he felt it bouncing the pendant. He had no duel disk, no cards. He gripped the base of the blue faience ankh in his left hand and his panic-blown mind went completely blank. His right hand moved of its own accord, extending out with the fingers upright and pressed tight together. He felt a quiet litany of unintelligible words start to fall from his lips.

“Yes, yes. Do what it is your birthright to do, young Horace,” Mahad said, his staff glowing the same turquoise green as the ankh in Yugi’s hand, now luminous with a powerful light.

Kaiba was poised with the scepter in front of him, carved face of the sha at the end glowing green like Mahad’s staff. The serpent spun and lurched at Kaiba’s outstretched arms, and Kaiba swung the glowing scepter like a bat, striking the serpent on the nose. The serpent recoiled and withdrew, but an ominous red light began to glow in its jaws.

“Call the dragon,” Mahad said, desperation in his voice.

Kaiba’s eyes rolled back in his head and he tapped the forked end of the scepter against the deck of the ship once, twice, three times. Three glowing orbs appeared around his head, cooling into into three wide blue eyes. The eyes swirled and scattered, and the body of each dragon materialized in a spiraling rush of white, growing from the eye out.

The Blue-Eyes White Dragons each took a place above the warriors, Mahad and Yugi in the back and Kaiba in front. Their feet marked the points of an equilateral triangle that appeared, glowing gold through the wood of the boat.

The serpent Apep unleashed a brutal burst of red flame, searing the wood of the barque around them. Yugi screamed, eyes wide, and the light of the ankh engulfed them, protecting their bodies from the tongues of fire with a mirror force dome.

“Go forth, my Blue Eyes,” Kaiba said, and the dragons raised their heads together, stretched their jaws wide. “Burst stream of destruction,” he cried, and they let fly their beams of white lightning right into the serpent’s open mouth. It made a horrid sound as it swayed back and fell into the water.

The flash of light when the burst hit blinded them for a moment. Kaiba stepped back as the smoke swirled and dissipated, squinting in the ominous silence to see if they had won.

“It’s not enough. I can sense him moving beneath the water,” Mahad said.

Suddenly, the barque lurched to the side. There was a whine as the wood creaked, then a sharp crack as the mast snapped in two, pulled into the water by the serpent’s tail. They stumbled, struggling to keep their footing as the dark water splashed over the deck.

Yugi clutched the ankh to his chest and thought of Atem. It was finally time to protect him. I cannot lose, I cannot lose, I cannot lose, he said to himself. His stomach tightened and he felt something shift within him. A warm sensation trickled down through the top of his head, pooling in his chest. It dripped down his spine and into his legs and in that moment he knew exactly what to do.

Yugi stepped into the center of the glowing triangle, close behind Kaiba.

“Trust me,” he said. He placed his open palm in the middle of Kaiba’s back and resumed his whispered litany, eyes closed in prayer. Kaiba leaned into the touch, raising the scepter over his head with both hands, the figured head pointing up to the sky between the three dragons.

Yugi’s eyes snapped open, lips moving silently as he spoke the words through Kaiba’s mouth:

“We offer you our servants as tribute,” Kaiba cried, his rich voice humming with the overtones of Yugi’s gentle tenor, “Come forth, Draconic Sibyl, the White Mage of Silence!”

The bodies of the dragons faded to twinkling emptiness, and in the light shone between them came a woman with long, blown-back white hair, dressed in a white toga. The toga was secured at the shoulder and the waist with brooches of sapphire and gold. On her bare right arm in deep blue was the tattoo of a dragon, tail curling in a spiral around her shoulder cap and twisting its way down her arm, with the roaring, blue-eyed head atop her hand. She drifted down to the boat, gold bangles on her ankles jingling softly as her bare feet touched the deck.

Mahad moved to stand next to Kaiba and raised his staff. Yugi dropped to one knee behind them, cradling the ankh to his lips with both hands, eyes distant as he turned inward to channel his energy toward thm.

“Come to me, my faithful servant,” Mahad called, and there was a crack of lightning and a flash of pink smoke next to the White Mage of Silence. There in the clearing smoke stood Mana in gray and gold, hat cocked to one side on her wild brown hair. She raised her wand, now slate gray with shining gold accents, to push her pointed hat back into place.

The water began to fizzle in front of the barque and a blast of steam hit them as a fireball shot out of the murky water into the air.

“Blaze burning!” Mana shouted, shielding them from the grazing blow with her upraised wand. She grunted, forcing the white fire from her wand to deflect the spinning fireball.

“Now, Seto,” Mahad said, holding his staff at an angle before him. Kaiba crossed the staff with his was scepter, and Mana, panting, pointed the curled end of her wand where their staffs joined. A green light grew at the junction, swirling and pulsing with the lilt of Yugi’s voice behind them.

“White Mage of Silence, attack!” Yugi called.

“Silent Execration!” Kaiba cried.

The White Mage lifted her hand high above her head, and the light from the magicians’ crossed wands shot up to gather in a spinning mass above her head. The serpent reared out of the water, a ball of red flame growing once more in its open jaws. They fired together, bright neon green and dark burning red clashing in a blinding flash of light. The aftershock of the explosion knocked Mana off her feet, sending her sliding down the deck. Mahad lifted his arm to shield his face, and Yugi dropped his fist to the deck to balance himself.

“Did it work?” Yugi said, squinting against the smoke.

Kaiba walked to the prow of the boat, gripping his scepter with both hands. He stepped up onto the edge of the boat with one leg, scanning the water for motion.

“Seto, be cautious,” Mahad said.

There was a beat of silence, then a piercing shriek as the serpent surged up and whipped through the air straight at Kaiba. Its jaw was hanging off, one side blown away, and its left eye was singed closed. There was thick, oily blood gushing out of its face and into the water, streaking the waves with darkly iridescent swirls.

“Seto!” Mahad said, scrambling forward.

“Kaiba!” Yugi said, horrified, stumbling to his feet.

“Disappear!” Kaiba screamed, flipping the scepter so the pointed, forked end faced up. The serpent made to swallow him, and he shoved the scepter high into the roof of its gaping mouth, grinding it up through the bone with a powerful, rage-filled thrust.

Even from a distance Yugi could see the muscles in his back straining under the skin, thick lean cords of muscle in his forearms pulsing as he drove the scepter up with an animalistic scream. Shining oily blood spurted out from the wound, spraying over Kaiba’s arms.Apep writhed and bucked against the scepter. Kaiba yanked backward, jerking Apep’s head half into the boat, and the scepter popped out with a squelch. The serpent hissed, red eye sliding closed, and sunk lifeless into the water, leaving a smear of oily blood behind it.

Kaiba staggered back, panting. He leaned heavily on the scepter to keep his balance. Yugi got to him just in time to catch some of the weight as his legs gave out. Yugi lowered him tenderly to the ground.

“Are you all right?” Yugi said, searching Kaiba’s eyes.

Kaiba wiped a droplet of oily blood from his cheek.

“Hmf! I refuse to lose to anyone but you.” He said, breathless but arrogant, propped up on a quivering elbow.

Yugi exhaled, relieved, unease slowly fading from his face.

Mahad brought Mana to her feet, straightening her hat himself this time.

“Master! We won,” she said, beaming up at him.

“Thank you, Mana. Well done.”

“Mana!” Yugi said as he helped the exhausted Kaiba lean back into his lap. “You look different. I like it.”

“Upgrade!” she said, giggling. “I’ve been practicing,” she said, winking at him.

The White Mage knelt in front of Yugi and Kaiba, placing her open palms on the deck. She dropped her forehead to her hands in silent supplication. The blue dragon tattoo on her arm rippled as she raised her torso up and bowed again, prostrate before them.

“Silent Magician, “ Yugi said affectionately, gently cupping her cheek to bring her back upright. “Is that you?”

“Kisara…” Kaiba whispered, squinting through the pain in his back and shoulders.

The white mage took Yugi’s hand and squeezed once. She slid closer to them, leaning over to brush the hair from Kaiba’s face. She kissed her index and middle fingers, then lightly touched his forehead.

“She wants to thank you for sharing your power,” Mahad said.

“You’re welcome,” Yugi said, holding her clear blue eyes with his own until he knew she felt his gratitude too.

The light around them had begun to change, murky gray giving way to purple and pink and a final, triumphant gold. Yugi felt drained but at peace. He laid his palms on Kaiba’s shoulders, comforted by the soft but regular rise and fall of Kaiba’s chest.

“You’ve done it, everyone,” came a familiar voice from behind them.

The hair on Yugi’s neck stood on end. His skin prickled with goosebumps from his ears down to his fingers. Kaiba’s eyes shot open and he forced himself upright again.

“Atem!” Yugi said, head turning toward his other self, tears welling in his smile-crinkled eyes.

Atem stood behind them, gold crown and gauntlets glinting in the growing light, purple cape fanned out behind him. His eyes shined a deep mauve in the blossoming dawn. He raised his fist in the air, and the sun began to crest over the horizon, bathing them all in gold.

His squared shoulders, his quiet dignity, the softness of his gaze, it was overwhelming to them. Tears streaked Yugi’s face. Mahad and Mana knelt reverently, faces full of awe. Kaiba’s eyes were wide and hungry and he swallowed heavily.

“Thank you, my friends,” Atem said, locking eyes with Yugi. The two stared silently for a moment, and then they both nodded.

Kaiba struggled to get up, reaching toward Atem, so close to them now. His elbow caught the corner of the end table and sent his half-empty coffee cup clattering to the ground. The sound of it rolling on the floor brought him to his senses, and he looked around the room, panicked.

There was his penthouse guest room, tablet on the floor by his feet. The sun was peeking in through the gap in the curtain that shielded them from the ten-foot windows and the view of all of Domino city below, gilding the little puddle of spilled coffee. The sliver of sun that cut through was shining on Yugi’s sleeping face, glinting on his thick, dark eyelashes, making his ruffled bangs look like actual gold—so much like Atem but for the pale color of his skin. His lips were parted and his brow was furrowed. He turned over, tugging loose one of the wires still attached to his body.

Kaiba was hit by the absurdity of his own disheveled, panicked, sweat-slicked state. He peeled off his sweater and undershirt and tossed them over the arm of the chair. He padded over to the bathroom to splash some water on his face.

His hands were shaking. He braced himself against the sink with his hips and stared at his blanched, shaking hands. His knuckled were bruised and bloody where they had been in the dream. There was sticky black oil under his fingernails. He turned on the faucet and let the cool water fall over his hands. He stood there for a long time, the sound of the water soothing his frayed nerves.

He saw some motion behind him in the mirror and his heart skipped. There was Yugi standing in the doorway, shirtless, worrying the pendant between his thumb and index fingers. There were still two little monitoring disks stuck to one side of his neck.

“Kaiba,” Yugi said, drowsy. He rubbed the sleep from his eye, concern wrinkling his brow.

Kaiba felt his chest tighten. He was tongue-tied, breathing heavy, a part of his consciousness still stuck in a dream. He stared at his own hands as though they might tell him what to do.

“You must have fallen asleep. You had a nightmare?” Yugi said.

Kaiba didn’t answer. He shut off the faucet. There was a tenuous silence, and he shut his eyes against it. What was happening to him?

Suddenly he felt a hand on his bare shoulder, a startling but welcome warmth. Yugi was close behind him, so close that his breath tickled Kaiba’s skin when he said softly:

“It’s okay. You’re okay. We’re home now, you don’t have to worry.”

Kaiba’s eyes widened. “What do you mean home—”

“Your hands,” Yugi said, tipping his head to the side to look at the mirror. He stared at the reflection of Kaiba’s bloody knuckles. “The dream. I was there too.”

Kaiba turned around, leaning back against the sink to put some space between them. He looked down into Yugi’s wide violet eyes. They were calm and clear.

“We had the same dream.” he said flatly.

“Well. It wasn’t a dream,” Yugi said gently. “At least, I don’t think so.”

Kaiba exhaled and his whole body slowly started to relax.

“What did he say to you? At the end?” Kaiba said.

Yugi raised his eyebrows.

“When you were staring at each other. I could sense it. Something between you. Is it mind reading?”

Yugi’s eyes darkened. “I don’t know. Maybe.”

“If there’s evidence in your neural signal, I’ll find it. I just have to analyze the data.”

Yugi smiled, exasperated but amused. “You and your data. Can we at least have some breakfast first? It’s like six thirty in the morning.”

Kaiba clenched his jaw. “If you expect me to act as though what just happened isn’t highly unusual, I’ll have to add an MRI to the tests you’ll be taking today, because you aren’t in your right mind.”

Yugi smiled and crossed his arms, purposely assuming the posture of challenge he’d learned from his other self. With Kaiba shirtless Yugi could see the ripple of tension flow from Kaiba’s neck down his long arms. The bloody knuckles twitched.

“I’m supposed to work at the store today. If you want me to do more tests for you, you’ll have to best me in a game,” Yugi said, eyes narrowed.

There was a moment where Kaiba didn’t know whether to be irritated or amused. His eyes passed over Yugi’s compact frame, all sharp elbows and lean muscle. The confident stance was as rattling as it was magnetic. Even standing barefoot in his boxers, even though Kaiba towered over him, Yugi had a formidable presence. Kaiba swallowed.

“Well?” Yugi said.

His jaw was set, he was looking up at Kaiba coyly. Goading him.

Kaiba smirked and reached over to peel a monitoring disk from behind Yugi’s ear. Yugi reddened but stood firm.

“Fine,” Kaiba said finally. He dialed a code into a small console on the wall.

“Good morning, Mr. Kaiba,” came a pleasant voice from the console.

“I would like some breakfast. Two place settings. A pot of coffee.” he said, watching as Yugi mouthed the words to him. “French toast. With apricot compote.” He paused, and Yugi mouthed more slowly. “Sorry, apple compote. Scrambled eggs.” He raised his eyebrow as Yugi nodded, mouthing the words as an incredulous Kaiba repeated them. “And toast, rye. With butter. Orange juice. And bacon.”

“Will that be all, Mr. Kaiba?”

“And a grapefruit.”

“Certainly. Anything else?”

“That will be all.”

“Yes, Mr. Kaiba.”

The air crackled between them and Kaiba smiled. Their little wager had brought him back from his dream-rattled state. He felt refreshed, excited.

“Chess?” he said.

Yugi frowned. “Rivals for Catan. We’ll play Duel of the Princes.”

Kaiba nodded. “Under the coffee table in the living room. I’ll get it.”

Yugi stepped back to let Kaiba pass and watched him disappear down the hall.

Yugi felt strange, electric, something between pain and excitement prickling his skin. He thought about the dream, about the sound of Atem’s voice, about how he felt in the moment that it looked like the serpent would swallow Kaiba. He thought of Kaiba’s muscles rippling as he speared the monster, about Kaiba’s head in his lap. A wave of giddy lightheadedness passed through him from the bottom of his spine up, a feeling like the start of a roller coaster dive.

Yugi took inventory of the last twenty-four hours, pressing the pendant around his neck between his thumb and forefinger.

A blooming awareness took root in his stomach and he blushed. He made a mental note to text Bakura. They needed to talk.

 

****

 

Mokuba let himself into the penthouse where his brother stayed on late work nights. He removed his white suit jacket and hung it on a peg above his shoes. He picked up the two coffees he had set on a side table and started in toward the living room. Surely his brother would need a pick-me-up if he’d been at work late enough to stay in the penthouse suite. Mokuba was expecting to see Seto among holofields and paperwork, pale but lucid, dressed for work.

What he saw when he crossed into the living room almost made him drop the coffees.

Kaiba was sitting languidly on the sofa, plush white terrycloth robe open on his bare chest, game cards in his right hand. He was grinning devilishly, chin high. Yugi was sitting cross legged on the floor on the other side of the coffee table, shirtless, barefoot, jeans unbuttoned. He was sucking on a piece of grapefruit and considering the spread of cards on the coffee table. Kaiba draped his arm along the top of the couch, and his posture was so relaxed, so leisurely—almost sensual, Mokuba thought with a wince—that Mokuba felt like an invader in his pleated slacks and crisp collared shirt.

“Oh god, uh. Hi. Should I come back?” he said, taking a step backward.

“Morning, Mokuba,” Yugi said, eyes still trained on the cards.

“You missed your curfew last night,” Kaiba said, looking at the cards in his hand.

“I missed my…well what were YOU doing last night,” Mokuba said, flustered.

“It’s no good,” Yugi said, shaking his head. “This is it,” he said, carefully placing a card on the table.

Kaiba laughed, haughty.

“Mokuba! I’m going to have to ask you to handle the tech audit yourself. I have to analyze some data and perform some tests this afternoon,” Kaiba said. “Right, Yugi?”

Yugi sighed. “Yup.”

“Okay. Well, its almost 8. Are you at least going to come to the board meeting?” Mokuba said, frowning. “It’s the projections for next quarter, we should really both be there.”

Kaiba waved dismissively. “Yes, of course.”

Yugi ruffled his wild hair. “I need a shower.”

“Need to cleanse yourself of your defeat?” Kaiba said, crossing his arms. “You’re welcome to use the shower here when I’m done.” He stood, slipping his hands into the pockets of his robe. “Mokuba, I’ll see you in the board room.”

“Okay…Nii-sama,” Mokuba said, watching his brother disappear down the hall.

Yugi reached up to grab a little plate of toast, two slices left on it. He offered it to Mokuba.

“Toast?”

Mokuba put the coffees down on the table and sunk into the couch, frowning. He took a piece of toast and began to chew on it, unsure what to say. He took out his phone instead.

“Oh! How was your date?” Yugi said.

“My date. Oh yeah,” Mokuba said as he put down his phone, smiling at the memory. “It was great. We had a great time. I’ll tell you all about it next time we debug.”

“Ah, great. I’ll tell Jounouchi it sucked,” Yugi said, winking.

Mokuba chewed thoughtfully on the toast.

“I haven’t seen him like that in a long time. Nii-sama.” Mokuba said, eyes distant. “He looked…happy.”

Yugi smiled. “He’s always happy when he’s winning, isn’t he?”

Mokuba squinted. “It’s different. I don’t know how to explain it.” He lookedover at Yugi—Yugi, kind eyes, cross legged on the floor, leaning back on his hands, comfortable and open. The food on the tray, the cards on the table, Yugi’s belt draped over a chair. It all made the stylish but sterile white room look lived-in, imbuing it with a human warmth. Mokuba shrugged.

“Well anyway it’s good to see him like that.”

He got up suddenly and patted his hands with a cloth napkin that was draped on the side of the coffee table. “Okay, I have to go prepare some papers.”

Yugi got to his feet and stretched. “See you this afternoon maybe.”

“Yeah. Hey, Yugi,” Mokuba said, caution tinting his voice.

“Mhm?” Yugi said as he threaded his studded belt into the loops on his jeans.

Mokuba chewed the inside of his lip. “Ah…thanks for the toast,” he said, turningquickly toward the door.

“No problem,” Yugi said quietly, blinking as Mokuba disappeared beyond the doorway.

Yugi felt suddenly vulnerable now that he was alone in the stark white room. Least he could do was tidy up.

He gathered the plates and stacked them on the cart, then went to work stacking up the playing cards, settling them back into their box. He was folding up the napkins when Kaiba stepped into the living room.

“I left you a towel and a washcloth,” Kaiba said from behind him.

Kaiba’s damp hair slicked to his forehead. The color had returned to his face. He was tucking the end of his collared shirt into his white suit pants.

“Thanks,” Yugi said, straightening the cart now stacked with their empty plates.

Kaiba took two cufflinks from his pocket and flicked his wrist, catching his cuffs with his last two fingers. He struggled with the small, understated cufflinks in his large hand.

“Here, I got it,” Yugi said, taking the little cuff link from Kaiba. He deftly inserted it and smoothed the cuffs until they were folded over neatly. Kaiba offered his other wrist and Yugi inserted the second cuff link, smoothed down the other side.

“Thank you.”

“Mhm.”

“B-lab at 4pm?”

“Mhm.”

Kaiba nodded and grabbed either side of the blue silk tie that was draped over his shoulders.

“Have a good day,” Yugi said, standing in the doorway to the hall, the domestic color of their exchange making him feel awkward and warm all over.

Kaiba smiled and nodded before he turned toward the door. The smile was so soft, so genuine, it was almost alarming. No, it *was* alarming, if the speed of Yugi’s heart was an indication of alarm.

Yugi waited, rooted in the doorway until the soft chime of the elevator from the other room underlined his aloneness in the expansive suite. He let out a breath he didn’t realize he’d been holding.

“What would you do,” he said softly to the cartouche pendant.

Silence answered him.

He picked his phone up off the table, typed a little message to Bakura. He shook his clammy hands out and headed toward the shower.


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is explicit! >:)

Bakura stepped softly through the narrow aisles of the game store, despite the inordinately tall stack of board games he balanced against his hip. He handed Yugi the boxes in an easy rhythm, needing no instruction. He’d helped at Kame Games before.

“We had breakfast in the morning. It was nice,” Yugi said, tidying a stack of dice games on a high shelf. “He got ready for work. It was, I don’t know, so normal.”

Bakura hummed, shifting the head-high stack of games to his other hip with a casual grace.

“Normal good, not normal bad.”

“Normal good.”

“So what’s the problem?” Bakura said.

Yugi paused, half-perched on a step stool.

“There’s no problem, it’s just…” Yugi cocked his head, looking for the words.

“You had a nice time,” Bakura supplied gently.

“Yeah.”

“And it was different from when, like for example you have a nice time with Jounouchi.”

Yugi knitted his brows. “Yeah it was.”

“Well okay. That’s good,” Bakura said, stretching to place the stack of games on a high shelf.

“Ha, I always forget how tall you are,” Yugi said, hopping off the step stool.

Bakura shrugged. “Let’s get the next box.”

They walked to the back room where Sugoroku kept inventory. Bakura cranked the blade on a box cutter, swiftly and efficiently opening the next package of games.

“It kind of sounds like you’re looking for permission,” he said, absently testing the blade with his thumb.

“Permission?” Yugi said, checking the packing list against the contents.

“Yeah, permission.”

Bakura slipped the box cutter into his back pocket and gathered up his long white hair into a ponytail.

“To feel the way you feel.”

“But how do I feel,” Yugi said to himself, gazing unseeing at the box of games.

“It sounds like you have a lot of…affection for him,” Bakura said carefully. “Maybe you even find him attractive. You get a funny look on your face when you talk about him you know.”

Yugi shook his head in confusion.

“Why feel that way though. It makes no sense.”

Bakura took a deep breath. He was feeling quite a few things himself, imagining Malik 30,000 feet in the air, probably halfway past Siberia by now.

“Kaiba is someone you’ve known for a long time. And you’ve been through a lot together. He was there through all the craziest things you’ve ever experienced. He was the cause of a lot of the craziest things you ever experienced. I mean that alone is a pretty intense basis for feeling strongly about someone.”

Bakura savored the satisfying zip of the box cutter as he deftly cut the flaps off the large box.

“He respects you as a duelist, and that’s saying something. And he wants to see you succeed, otherwise he wouldn’t give you so much freedom and so many perks. I mean you can basically do whatever you want with your game development projects. It must be a pretty sweet deal, because Otogi is constantly telling me how jealous he is.”

Yugi nodded, chewed the inside of his cheek, listening.

“You care about Kaiba, obviously. You talk about him all the time. He’s got his flaws—I mean I find him pretty exhausting to be around. But he does a lot of good in this world. His heart is in the right place. There’s a lot to love if you can get past his demeanor.” Bakura said, tapping his lip with his index finger.

“Plus,” he said, hoisting the box onto his shoulder, “he’s hot.”

Yugi reddened. “Really.”

Bakura started out toward the aisles that needed stocking.

“Yeah. Not Hollywood hot, but definitely magazine hot. I mean did you see that ad for Zegna in GQ?”

Yugi shrugged—he only read gaming magazines.

“It was all these young tech moguls in these suits. He was the covergirl,” Bakura said with a fox’s smile. “Tight and white, true to form. Very nice.”

Yugi followed Bakura out, arms crossed, hand on his chin.

“How did you know you were attracted to Malik?”

Bakura dropped the box onto a step stool and tightened his ponytail. He left his hands up, tangled in his long white hair.

“Well…” he mused, back turned toward Yugi. “To be honest, it was him. The ring.”

Yugi’s eyes widened. “What do you mean?”

Bakura’s arms dropped lifelessly to his sides.

“I don’t know how it was for you, but for me, when he got distracted, you know, like if he was really focusing on something, his feelings would…bleed through. Normally he kept me in a very dark and quiet place. If he was really mad, he'd just knock me out. I had no idea what was going on. But every once in a while…”

Yugi threaded and unthreaded his fingers, listening while Bakura slowly worked through the thought.

“I would catch...glimpses of what he was feeling.”

Bakura turned his head, and Yugi could read a wry smile in his profile.

“That guy was a total freak.” Bakura chuckled darkly and Yugi’s body tightened like a trapped animal in response to the sound. “A true freak.”

“Like …sexually?” Yugi said, voice cracking.

“All kinds of ways,” Bakura said thoughtfully, sounding like himself again. “But yeah, sexually too. Like there was a moment when they first met that Malik tried to control me…us…with the rod, and when he fought it off I could feel his feelings bleed through. Even his thoughts. And he was thinking just, like, the most outrageous stuff about Malik.”

Yugi waited for Bakura to elaborate. Bakura just shuddered, whether in pleasure or disgust Yugi couldn’t tell.

“Anyway yeah, it was hard to put that stuff out of my mind. When I came to, Malik was carrying me, I’d been stabbed, and well. He was actually very gentle. Tender even. We’re about the same size, but he was carrying me like it was nothing. It had been a long time since anyone touched me at all.”

Bakura turned toward Yugi, the look on his face saying he was as surprised by this conversation as Yugi was.

“And he just smelled so good. I don’t know. I felt it then. It took me a while to know what feelings were really mine. But I’m pretty confident now that I’ve had some time to unpack it all.”

Yugi blinked, a little startled by the thought. There were so few things that he and his other self disagreed on that it had never been an issue. The question of whose thoughts were whose, who felt what weren’t necessary when they were so often in total lock-step.

“Hmm.”

“I mean, I bet it’s not so different. How did you know you were attracted to Anzu?”

Yugi folded his hands behind his head and smiled.

“Man, we were in fourth grade. It was around my birthday I think. We were at a park, just swinging on the swings. These kids in my class were at the park too, and one of them called me shrimp. ‘Hey shrimp!’ he said.”

Yugi chuckled, self-deprecating, out of reflex.

“So Anzu jumps off the swing and gets right in the kid's face and says, ‘Don’t call him that.’ And he was scared. You know how she gets.”

“I do,” Bakura said.

“Something about her standing up for me, and she was wearing this blue tank top. It had little ice cream cones printed all over it…”

Yugi blushed, rubbing the back of his neck.

Bakura laughed. “That’s really cute. Way cuter than my story.”

They resumed stocking the shelves, quick and efficient work between them. Yugi got the low shelves, Bakura the high ones.

“I just don’t know, Bakura, I’ve never felt that way about a guy before.”

Bakura shook his head, ponytail punctuating his frustration. I bet you have felt that way about a guy before, Bakura thought, recalling Yugi's utter heartbreak in the months after the ceremonial duel. He kept the thought to himself.

“Guy, girl, who cares,” he said.

“Everybody cares,” Yugi said flatly.

“Look at it this way,” Bakura said, his voice colored with a note of persuasiveness that made him sound unnervingly like the spirit of the ring. “You like a strong woman—Anzu. She’s confident and outspoken, she’s feisty. She’s kind to those who are close to her but she’s also kind of a hardass sometimes. She has strong values and she doesn’t compromise on her values, ever. She can be pretty annoying that way. She’s taller than you. She’s very loyal and she’s driven. She’s got blue eyes. And she’s skinny, but she’s a dancer so she’s super ripped.”

Yugi’s face was a little knot of confusion.

“Who does that sound like?” Bakura said, quirking a pale eyebrow.

“Oh my god,” Yugi said, slapping his forehead.

“You have a type,” Bakura said, flashing his neat white teeth in a rare genuine grin.

“A type!”

Yugi groaned. He imagined Anzu and Kaiba side-by-side: confident poses, sparkling blue eyes. They were so different, and yet he could see the prototypical commonalities. To his own surprise, it was his mental reconstruction of Kaiba that drew his inner eye, his inner hunger. Kaiba, whose eyes shone brighter, who radiated power and a dark desire, sucking Yugi in like a black hole.

“But Kaiba,” Yugi said, searching for some flaw. “He doesn’t have…” Yugi made exaggerated squeezing motions in front of his chest.

“Yeah well,” Bakura said, licking the corner of his lips. “Anzu doesnt have this,” he said, grabbing the groin of his jeans and bucking his hips at Yugi.

Yugi’s jaw dropped. Bakura blushed, realizing what he’d just done. Yugi burst out laughing and Bakura started to chuckle despite himself, and it caught and caught until they were both laughing for laughing’s sake.

“I don't believe you,” Yugi said, wiping tears from his eyes.

“Believe me,” Bakura said, fixing some crooked price tags, pale face rouged with laughter. He took a deep breath and dropped his voice to a more conspiratorial volume. “Trust me, stuff with guys is pretty much like stuff with girls. It’d be just like doing stuff with Anzu, only, you know, a few little differences,” Bakura said, eyes bright with mischief.

“Ah, well,” Yugi said, staring at his shoes, his face a deep pink.

Bakura blinked. “Oh, I’m sorry. I assumed—”

“We made out a couple of times. Before she left. But that’s all.” Yugi said, giving Bakura an opaque, composed smile.

Bakura put down the display pieces he was dusting and turned to face Yugi. He slipped his slim hands into the pockets of his jeans.

“What do you think about when you touch yourself?” he said, quietly but clearly.

Yugi dropped the box in his hands and the package split open, spilling multicolored dice all over the floor. He hastily kneeled to pick them up.

“It’s a perfectly normal question,” Bakura said. “You must be thinking about something.”

“I don’t think.” Yugi turned as he stood, giving his shoulder to Bakura, face hidden by his hair. “I…if I’m not watching something I just do it, you know?”

Yugi kicked the carpet. Then he said, very quietly:

“What do you think about?”

Bakura twirled the tip of his ponytail between two slim fingers and smiled. “Malik, mostly, now anyway. It’s sort of new for me, doing it alone.”

“What does that mean?” Yugi said, bending down to pick up the rest of the dice.

Bakura bit his lip. He kneeled down next to Yugi on the floor and started plucking the dice from the ground one at a time, dropping them into his open palm, click clack.

“He used to, how do I say it. Join me. He’d just sort of take over. But he’d keep me there. Like it was happening to me, and I was doing it, but it wasn’t me doing it.” He sighed. “It was weird. I think he really got off on that.”

Yugi fixed Bakura with wide, compassionate eyes. Not pitying—Yugi was too kind to pity anyone—but deeply feeling, a little sad.

“If I’m being honest, I didn’t entirely mind.” Bakura said, standing, jingling the pile of dice in his hands, “I mean, part of me hated it, definitely. But still,” his voice grew small and dark.

“Nothing's ever felt that good.”

Yugi’s eyes glazed and he focused intently on the laces of his shoes.

“I get that,” he said. “There was a time. He didn’t force or anything. I just felt him there. And I let him, you know? Like opening the door half way. I knew it was him moving. But I could feel it. I could see it.”

Bakura sighed a little trembling sigh.

“Was it nice?”

Yugi didn’t know how to answer. He couldn’t tell what Bakura was thinking. Bakura’s dark eyes were fathomless and betrayed nothing but an unknowable depth, like a lake at night, dangerous and passively inviting at the same time.

“It was nice.”

Yugi stood, handing Bakura the dice he’d collected.

“I’ve never told anyone about that. We didn’t even talk about it. That’s just how it was from then on.”

“Ah,” Bakura said, eyes distant.

“But I guess if I was going to answer your question before, I think—maybe I think about that when I—” Yugi said, clasping his hands in front of him, the posture of a school child.

“Ah, hmmm,” Bakura said, dumping the pile of dice onto a shelf. He placed a hand on Yugi’s shoulder. Their eyes met, and Bakura made a very serious face.

“So,” Bakura bowed his head reverently, “praise on his name, the pharaoh blessed your temple. And now…” he dropped his voice to a melodramatic croon, “you’re one of us.”

Bakura stared into Yugi’s wide eyes, face grave and drawn. Then he raised his eyebrows and gave a little fox smile and they both burst broke into giggles. It grew and grew until they were having fits.

It was a mad, encompassing kind of laughter that broke open their constricted ribcages, shook loose all the heavy things they had stored there and taken out today. They leaned against the shelves and laughed till there were tears in their eyes and then more, until they had laughed it all out.

“You put the puzzle on,” Bakura said between melodic little giggles, “and now you have an earring, and you go all starry eyed when Kaiba’s in the room.”

“Oh god,” Yugi said, wiping his nose with the back of his hand. He dropped his voice to a stage whisper. “Am I—do I...?”

Bakura looked him up and down and shrugged.

“You’re on the team,” he said, pantomiming a theatrical baseball swing, clucking his tongue as he hit the imaginary ball. “Provisionary membership.”

“Don’t tell Jounouchi,” Yugi said as the front door opened with a peal of bells, and both of them straightened up, looking guilty but without remorse, two cats with the canary between them.

“Don’t tell me what?” Jounouchi said, folding his dripping umbrella. Bakura cleared his throat.

“Oh, Jounouchi, is it raining?” he said, walking to the front to greet Jounouchi with a fist bump.

Jounouchi brushed a few droplets from his jacket and hung it near the door. “A little, yeah.”

“Is it 2:00 already?” Yugi said, pulling out his phone.

“Yeah,” Bakura said. “You better get going.”

Yugi gave Bakura a grateful nod, Jounouchi a punch on the shoulder. “Thank you for your help you guys. Dinner on me tonight.”

Jounouchi grinned. “Don’t threaten me with a good time.”

Yugi patted his pockets, checking for his phone and wallet. He removed his deck holster from around his waist and slung it around his body cross-wise, then pulled on his jacket, zipping it carefully over his deck case. He pulled the jacket hood over his hair and waved at them.

“Bye guys. Text you later!”

Yugi disappeared, the bells on the door jingling as it floated shut behind him. They watched Yugi’s form disappear through the rain-speckled glass.

“He’s spending a lot of time over there isn’t he.” Jounouchi said.

“Guess so,” Bakura said, brushing his bangs from his face.

Jounouchi turned to Bakura and squinted.

“What?” Bakura said, fidgeting under Jounouchi’s gaze.

“That hair man. You look like a girl,” he said.

Bakura’s face went carefully neutral and he pulled out the hair tie and slipped it over his wrist. He pulled the box cutter from his back pocket and nestled his thumb against the slide.

“I’ll be in the back if you need me.”

 

****

 

“I would have sent a car, you know,” Mokuba said, handing Yugi a towel.

“It’s okay, I needed the walk,” Yugi said, patting his face and shoulders. The walk had numbed him some but his mind was still churning.

“Nii-sama’s in the lab already,” Mokuba said, waving Yugi toward the wide glass doors.

Kaiba didn’t look up as Yugi entered. He was typing rapidly at a console, three large holofields hovering in front of him. He was still in his suit, the jacket thrown over the back of the chair. The sleeves of his starched collared shirt were rolled up to the elbow, revealing his lean muscular arms.

“I’ve already begun analyzing your neural activity from last night. It’s as I expected: abnormal activity at around 3AM, after an interrupted REM cycle. We’ll need to run through some PowerLink exercises to see if your baseline has changed.”

“Mhm,” Yugi said, standing obediently behind Kaiba’s chair. His eye was drawn by Kaiba’s animated hands—the broad palms, the long fingers spidering over the keys. Yugi looked down at his own hands: a good deal smaller than Kaiba’s but proportionally large for his 5’5” frame. His own hands were thicker through the fingers, stronger looking even. Nothing like Kaiba’s expressive, angular hands. He considered at length the difference in the shape of their nails: his a rounded square, Kaiba’s more like a blunt almond, long for the length of the fingers. He did this to force out the thought that threatened to dominate, which was what would it feel like to twine those long fingers with his own.

“All right. We’ll make do with basic vitals monitoring and the headset. The blood pressure cuff is next to your gear,” Kaiba said, swiveling around in his chair to face Yugi.

Yugi’s eyes snapped up and he felt as though he’d been caught doing something naughty.

“Okay.”

He walked over to the wall where his headset hung.

“This time we’ll test resistance to sync. Try and hide the contents of your hand and I’ll do the same,” Kaiba said, putting on his own headset.

Yugi pulled his deck holster over his head and set it on the table. He flipped open the case and pulled out his deck. He adjusted the blood pressure cuff around his arm for comfort and sat down.

Kaiba activated the sync from his tablet and took a seat in front of his neatly stacked deck. They drew five cards.

The sync hit much softer now that they were used to it. There was a flush of warmth and a little giddyness bordering on motion sickness, then a deep spreading calm. Yugi carefully cleared his mind. Each time he felt a foreign push within, he imagined raising his open palm to it, sending it away.

“What am I holding,” Kaiba said, challenge in his clear blue eyes.

Yugi looked into his eyes, struggling past his own awkwardness to stay seeking through Kaiba’s mind. He met a wall of ice that chilled his body and he shuddered. He pushed in his mind’s eye and the ice gave way, but there was stone beneath it.

Kaiba grinned.

“Is that the best you can do?”

Yugi frowned, eyes hardening. He relaxed back into himself, pulling instead of pushing this time. He tried to draw the information in, inviting it through his calm and focused violet eyes. He licked his lips, dry in the cool air of the lab. Kaiba winced, his guard faltered, and Yugi caught a momentary flash of insight.

“Pandemic dragon, destruction ring, crush card virus, chaos form and krystal avatar.”

Kaiba nodded, folding his cards together and placing them face down on the table.

“Your turn,” Yugi said, glancing down at his hand.

Yugi felt as though a swarm of hands were patting him down from all sides. He wriggled in his chair. It wasn’t enough to block them with emptiness. He could hear Kaiba’s arrogant laughter echo inside his head when his focus dipped.

Brute force of focus wouldn't work. He decided to try a smokescreen instead.

He channeled some of his more heightened memories. Jounouchi, mad with Malik’s misplaced rage, raining fire on him; the broken look on his other self’s face as the seal of Orichalchos closed around him; Anzu in the starlit night on Pegasus’ island, telling him he was okay exactly how he is; Kaiba, after they defeated Diva, telling him he was a true duelist.

Kaiba took a gulp of air, pressing back into the chair. The last vision created a domino effect of thought where from that one association grew all the others, and Kaiba was flooded with images of himself through the warming lens of Yugi’s experience.

He saw himself from low, heroic angles gesture grandly, every swing of his long arms bringing little bursts of excitement. He heard his own voice call plays, much richer than it sounded in his own ears, eliciting a spine-tingling shudder. He saw himself from very close, felt a stinging warmth that spread from his ears to his belly as the memory of him applied a monitor to Yugi’s swanlike neck.

He saw his own throat quake, adam’s apple sliding up and down between the corded muscles as he swallowed heavily. He saw a drop of sweat roll over the sharp curve of his jaw with a keening hunger. The room was entirely too hot. He saw his own hands, splayed wide on the table before them, but he saw them from Yugi’s eyes. He did not see Yugi’s cards.

Kaiba balled his fists and huffed.

“Nicely done.”

Yugi relaxed back, eyes softening. Kaiba was flooded with a giddy pride, a dancing sense of victory, though it was not his own. Yugi set his cards face-down on the table.

“That should do for a baseline,” Kaiba said, picking up his tablet and reviewing the readings.

Yugi folded his hands and waited. He quickly grew restless. He slid the cuff off his arm and rubbed his bicep where it sat.

Kaiba swiped through menus, typed rapidly on the screen, eyes reflecting the green glow of the holofield. He was thoroughly absorbed in the data.

Yugi remembered what Bakura said about the spirit of the ring being more open when it was distracted. A question burned in Yugi’s throat, made him squirm in his seat even more. Something in the pit of his stomach flipped, and he closed his eyes against the feeling.

He relaxed his neck and shoulders and opened his mind. He drew inward, drawing Kaiba’s memory with him, feeling for some impression of himself.

What he saw gripped him like a vice.

Flash after flash of narrowed mauve eyes, a confident smirk, the curve of a bicep flexing through the long arc of a card draw. He heard the familiar voice husky with satisfaction declaring victory victory victor. Atem, Atem, Atem like an ecstatic mantra, every image pouring frustration and awe and fury and fiery hunger into Yugi’s knotted mind.

How differently they saw him, he and Kaiba. He felt a pang of jealousy at Kaiba for being able to interact so directly with his most cherished companion. To see his other self in this way, through Kaiba’s hungry eyes, it was too much. And of himself? Nothing.

His face fell.

Kaiba stopped typing and their eyes met. There was a quiet fury in the bright blue eyes, the lips drawn into a tight line.

Yugi was struck with the image of himself—which self, he didn’t know—on blue silk sheets, hair swept back, Kaiba’s long fingers wrapped around his neck, pressing him down into the plush bedding. He saw his eyes pinched shut in unmistakable ecstasy, lips moist and abraided coral pink. The hand at his throat tightened, his breath hitched. Yugi abruptly stood, knocking his chair over. The echoing clatter broke their focus and the image faded.

Kaiba stood and walked up to Yugi, looming darkly, brows drawn. Yugi instinctively backed up until the backs of his thighs hit the edge of a workstation. Kaiba pressed in close, and Yugi leaned on his hands, spine bent back, the front of his neck exposed in a delicate curve as he stared directly up into Kaiba’s stormy eyes.

“Are you satisfied?” Kaiba said, grabbing Yugi’s jaw. His hands were shaking. Yugi looked away. “Did you find what you were looking for?”

Yugi’s heart beat wildly in his chest. His jaw ached from the iron press of Kaiba’s hand. Fear and remorse mingled in a dark cloud in his mind and Yugi felt himself shrinking.

“Look at me,” Kaiba commanded, voice sharp. Yugi met Kaiba’s eyes, willing back his tears. He was flooded with anxiety and shame, a dark and powerful anger, and a deep, ancient, aching vulnerability. A tear quivered in the corner of Yugi’s eye and then spilled, dripping down his cheek.

“Kaiba…” he said shakily.

Kaiba let go of his jaw and lifted his hand. Yugi thought he might strike him, but he brushed the tear away instead.

“You’ll look into my mind without asking, but you won’t call me by my first name, Yugi?” Kaiba said, spitting the name out. He turned away.

“Now you know,” Kaiba croaked, voice acidic and uncharacteristically shaky. “How I feel. Be careful what you wish for.”

They both stood in the pregnant silence, swirling with the echo of one anothers’ chaotic emotions.

“Don’t say that like you know what I want,” Yugi said, loud enough to echo against the high ceilings of the lab. Kaiba turned sharply to face him.

“Oh? Then tell me what it is you wish for,” he said, voice a low rumble.

“Seto…” Yugi closed the distance between them, their toes almost touching. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have done that. I wanted to know. I was afraid, I. I am afraid.”

Kaiba looked down his nose at Yugi, face pinched as though in pain. He radiated hurt and confusion.

“I’m afraid because…” Yugi said, voice cracking. He held Kaiba’s pained eyes with his own determined ones. “I think I…think I love you. More than a friend. It’s confusing and it’s scares me. More than anything ever has.”

It hung in the air between them. Kaiba’s eyes were wide and unfocused, constricted pinpoint pupils making the blue irises shine with a quivering light.

“Please don’t hate me. I had to tell you. I feel weird keeping it to myself. I know you don't feel the same, I just—”

Kaiba laughed, a cutting, arrogant sound.

“How perfectly lame of you to assume. Do you think you can see into the depth of my mind with a mere glance?”

Yugi held his ground when Kaiba reached for him. Kaiba sunk his fingers into the hair at the base of Yugi’s neck and pulled his head back, just enough that his chin was tilted up. Yugi swallowed with difficulty, but he held Kaiba’s fiery gaze, ready for the kind of brutal talkdown that Kaiba was famous for in the dueling circuit.

“Since you seem so confused, I'll show you,” Kaiba said, yanking Yugi forward by the waist, crushing their bodies together. Yugi’s eyes went wide as Kaiba’s slid shut.

Kaiba leaned down and kissed him with a brutal, unexpected tenderness.

Yugi froze, mind blank.

Kaiba started to pull back, and the movement brought Yugi to his senses. He leaned into the kiss, drinking in the taste and the heat of Kaiba’s lips. He reached around, gripping Kaiba’s thighs at the juncture of his hips, pressing their bodies even closer.

The screen of Kaiba’s tablet blinked its red alarm and the system, pushed well past critical feedback levels, went into emergency shutdown. They parted, gasping for air, as the sync closed.

“Kaiba,” Yugi panted, gripping the wrist of the hand still tangled in his hair.

“Seto,” Kaiba corrected, sliding his fingers down Yugi’s neck to rest his thumb in the hollow of Yugi’s collarbone. “Next time you want to know what I'm thinking, you ask.”

Yugi flushed, eyes dark with need.

“Next time, I’ll ask.”

He leaned his forehead against Kaiba’s solar plexus and breathed in deeply, savoring the scent of Kaiba’s skin, musk and cedar and rainwater and the faintest hint of smoke. Kaiba gathered Yugi in his arms, curling around him possessively but gently.

“Administrative override, subprogram SEC-40. Timestamp minus fifteen minutes.”

“Protocol initiated. Command expiry required.” said a synthesized voice from the ceiling.

“1600 hours,” Kaiba said.

“What did you just do?” Yugi said, voice muffled against his body.

“I disabled the security cameras in this lab.”

Yugi’s eyes twinkled and his stomach flipped.

“We have a half hour until they turn back on again,” Kaiba said, hand trailing down Yugi’s side.

Yugi stepped back, far enough that he could look Kaiba in the eye without craning his neck. He removed his headset and set it on the console behind him. Then he slid up onto the console, lifting his body up with the heels of his hands.

He sat there, knees splayed, eyes projecting challenge.

Kaiba answered by removing his own headset. He slowly unbuttoned his collared shirt, eyes on Yugi. He laid the headset on a nearby chair.

Yugi licked his lips. His throat was painfully dry. Kaiba stepped close, standing between Yugi’s legs, and Yugi could feel the heat radiating off his exposed chest. Kaiba lifted the hem of Yugi’s shirt, easing it over his head and uplifted arms. Kaiba pressed his large palm into Yugi’s chest, covering the pendant. Yugi looked up at Kaiba through his lashes, and reached up to cup his face. He pulled Kaiba down gently, pressing their lips together with a reverent softness. He felt a sob hook itself behind his heart.

Kaiba read Yugi’s ambivalence and kneeled down, laying his head on Yugi’s jean-clad thigh.

“This should come as no surprise,” he said, metallic edge to his voice. “You’re an intelligent person.”

“It wouldn’t surprise me at all if you wanted him,” Yugi said, gently running his fingers through Kaiba’s hair. “But me?”

Kaiba lifted his head, gripping Yugi’s wrist with a dangerous strength.

“Yugi.”

Yugi winced and Kaiba cupped the small, shapely hand in his own.

“Your refusal to see yourself for what you are is infuriating,” he said, lifting the hand to his lips.

He rose up, leaning in to kiss Yugi hungrily on the underside of his jaw. Yugi wrapped his legs around Kaiba’s waist and clawed at his back, grinding against him with an adolescent fervor. Kaiba placed one hand on the small of Yugi’s back and slid the other under his thigh, lifting him easily. He took a staggering step, causing their bodies to clash at the waist, and pressed Yugi up against a nearby wall. Yugi moved under him easily like a dancer, hotly reciprocal, compliant, and needy all the same. Yugi’s hands were running greedy over Kaiba’s chest when there was a crackle of static from behind them.

“Nii-sama. I got a warning that the security system was disabled in your sector. Is everything all right? Over.”

Yugi moaned in disappointment when Kaiba gently lowered him down, separating them.

“Nii-sama, come in. Over.”

Kaiba lifted his jacket and spoke wearily into the lapel.

“Disregard. I’ll correct the issue shortly. Over and out.”

Yugi shuddered, leaning shakily against the wall.

Kaiba stormed over to him, wordless, frenzied, and kneeled down. He looked up at Yugi, eyes searching. Yugi blushed. He’d never looked down at Kaiba before.

“Seto, what—”

“Shh. If you want it, let me. We have less than twenty minutes.”

Kaiba held Yugi’s eyes, radiating hunger. Yugi nodded, breathless, elated, prickling with anticipatory anxiety.

Kaiba’s long, skilled fingers had Yugi’s belt and fly undone in seconds. He nuzzled Yugi’s belly, gently sucking under his belly button as he slid down Yugi’s tight jeans, just enough that Yugi’s cock sprung free. Kaiba took in the sight with a vicarious pride, and made a mental note to amend his fantasies for the golden-blonde hair.

Yugi’s hands gripped fistfuls of Kaiba’s hair and he gasped as his cock disappeared into Kaiba’s warm, wet mouth. Kaiba worked him fervently, driven more by need than skill, but in a short time Yugi was shaking and biting down his moans, fist pressed against his lips.

“Seto,” he hissed, bucking his hips. “Seto please,” he said, tugging at Kaiba’s hair.

Kaiba stood, crushing his lips to Yugi’s in a bruising kiss. Yugi’s lips parted to receive him as Kaiba pumped Yugi’s weeping cock in his lightly clenched fingers

Yugi groaned and slammed his head back, the sound of it against the wall echoing in the huge lab. Kaiba grabbed him softly by the chin, forcing their eyes to meet as he spurted hot globs of cum into Kaiba’s palm.

“Yugi,” Kaiba said, voice thick with desire. Yugi moaned, bucking against Kaiba’s gentle grip.

His legs shook and Kaiba pressed his body up against him to steady him. He rested his forehead in the hollow of Kaiba’s neck.

“Your pants,” he said breathlessly.

“I have other pants,” Kaiba said, pressing his throbbing erection against Yugi’s dribbling, wet, softening cock through the silken fabric of his expensive white slacks.

“How long?” Yugi said, palming Kaiba’a sizable bulge.

“Not long enough. We need to get dressed. Quickly.”

They parted, each scrambling to straighten themselves out. Kaiba wiped his hand with a handkerchief pulled from the pocket of his jacket and quickly buttoned his collared shirt. Yugi carefully zipped his jeans and pulled on his discarded tee.

“My office,” Kaiba clipped, throwing his jacket over his shoulder.

They made it to the elevator just as the computerized voice said, “System security engaged.”

They took the elevator ride in tense silence. Yugi’s head was swimming, hazy with afterglow. He felt dizzy. He glanced over at Kaiba, whose eyes were glassy but eerily focused—on him.

They blazed past Kaiba’s startled secretary when the elevator finally released them, and Kaiba shut the door behind them with a reverberating click. He lifted a finger to his lips as if to say ‘quiet.’

Yugi stood in the center of Kaiba’s stark white office, trying to apprehend the situation. Kaiba was leaning against the office door, breathing heavily. He was visibly hard, even through his clothes at a distance.

“Only I have access to the cameras in here,” he said quietly.

Kaiba sat down on the white leather couch on the side of the office farthest from the floor-to-ceiling windows and patted the cushion next to him. Yugi sat down, close but not touching.

“I’m new to this,” he said, eyes fixed on the rapidly drying stain on Kaiba’s pants. “It’s happening very fast.”

“You don’t have to do anything you don’t want to do. Now or ever.” Kaiba took his hand and kissed each knuckle.

“This is new to the both of us,” he said, looking away.

“Is that so?” Yugi said with a coy, crooked smile, feeling a growing tightness in his already too-tight jeans. He caught Kaiba’s eyes, raw with emotion, stripped of their usual control.

“I am sorry. For prying.”

Kaiba fixed him with a knowing smirk. “You get in peoples heads as a matter of course. I’m amazed you didn’t try it sooner.”

Yugi sighed, squeezing Kaiba’s hand.

“I’m just amazed, period. You could have anyone—”

“And yet,” Kaiba said, pulling Yugi over by the wrist. “I want only the best.”

Yugi read Kaiba’s body language and straddled him, sinking down to grind their hips together. Kaiba hissed.

“It’s really only you that can see the footage?” Yugi said, nodding up at a security camera in the shape of a blue dragon eye in the ceiling.

Kaiba swallowed and nodded.

Yugi leaned in and they shared a languid, unhurried kiss. Kaiba’s large hands lightly gripped Yugi’s waist, fingers almost touching at the curve of his spine. Yugi cupped Kaiba’s face, feeling the muscles of his jaw work as each slow, wet kiss bled into the next. Kaiba moaned into Yugi’s mouth, a deep animalistic sound, and Yugi shivered. He leaned back, the shift in weight pressing their hips together.

“How long have you felt like this,” Yugi said. “About me.”

Kaiba’s eyes flashed. “Since I saw you on your knees in that tomb.”

Yugi smiled, remembering the ceremonial duel. Bittersweet emotion welled up in him and spilled out through his eyes.

“Ah,” he said, a little sadly.

Kaiba frowned.

“Don’t misunderstand me. Until that moment, I had trouble accepting the fact that there were two of you. It started at Pegasus’ castle. When you saved me.”

Kaiba gripped Yugi’s waist, fingers pressing sharp into his flesh.

“That day in the tomb, I saw the difference between you and him. That it was you, more than him, who always tried to fold me into your little group. Who looked after Mokuba when I couldn’t. You were the one who was there reaching out the whole time.”

Kaiba slid his hands down to rest above Yugi’s bent knees.

“In the beginning I thought that I was chasing him, that you were just his shadow. A vessel. Then you beat him in the tomb. It was shocking. I didn’t accept it at first. But then you beat me at the coliseum, and I finally began to understand.”

A tense energy passed between them. Yugi felt the familiar, encompassing press of Kaiba’s single-minded focus, only now he was the object of obsession. It was a heady feeling.

“I know now that it’s you who casts the shadow. And if I’m going to reach you, if I’m going to prove myself worthy to rival you, I’ll have to defeat him first.”

Yugi frowned. He placed a hand on Kaiba’s chest, holding the distance between them.

“And that’s what you want. To challenge him so you can challenge me. To be the king of games.”

Kaiba’s face twisted in disgust.

“Do you think so little of me?” he growled, and Yugi could feel the thrumming vibrations against his hand.

Kaiba flipped them violently, shoving Yugi down against the couch so hard that it knocked the wind out of him. Kaiba loomed over him, hands on either side of his spinning head. Yugi’s eyes hardened and he felt his muscles tense, ready to snap into action.

“Don’t underestimate me. That you could think I’m that simple…it’s unacceptable.” Kaiba said, scowling.

A little pearl of insight dropped into Yugi’s mind, rippling the waters of his thoughts. It was the euphoria of eureka, the moment of insight before a game-winning move. He melted into the couch, his limbs suddenly, pleasantly weightless, free of the press of anxiety.He smiled.

“I understand, you know? We’re the same.”

Kaiba stared, eyes seeking.

“You want to be seen. You want to be acknowledged and understood. Only most people aren’t smart enough to understand you. Or to even see you for who you really are.”

Yugi searched Kaiba’s face.

“You’re afraid that even if you find anyone who can see you…that they’ll see something ugly underneath all these accomplishments, all the charitable deeds, all the skill, all the money and power.”

Kaiba recoiled.

“Being incognito, people always seeing another version of you, their own version of you made out of their expectations. It’s lonely isn’t it.”

Yugi placed a hand softly on Kaiba’s arm.

“I will never be as smart as you,” he said, violet eyes on Kaiba’s, full of reverent affection. Yugi ran through the list of things in his head that Kaiba was that he would never be. The list was long.

“But I see you.”

Kaiba’s wide eyes went dark with a complex emotion. He felt naked and small. He felt small but held, like a scared child in a comforting but restrictive embrace.

“And I like what I see.”

Kaiba stared down at Yugi. Yugi, calm and unguarded, eyes clear and kind, lucid. Those eyes and an old gnawing hunger deep in his core broke his resistance. He could practically feel his careful control shattering like glass within him, the shards glinting with the truth that was held there.

He leaned down, dripping his words into Yugi’s ear.

“I see you, too. I see you all the time.”

He half-straddled Yugi, pressing his knee against Yugi’s thigh.

“I see you at work, I see you at tournaments. When we’re apart sometimes I watch you on CCTV, because I can.”

Yugi opened his mouth to speak but Kaiba closed it with a forceful kiss. They parted with a gasp.

“I see you when I’m sleeping. When you’re not plaguing my dreams,” he said, his erection pressing into Yugi’s thigh, “you’re dragging me into other worlds to fight your demons. It’s thoroughly exhausting.”

Kaiba was wound tight, but Yugi read no anger in his face, and his posture was less guarded. Yugi smiled—it was his win.

“I guess I’m pretty high maintenance,” Yugi said. “But so are you, so we’re even.”

Yugi pushed Kaiba back with some difficulty, moving with him until they were both upright. He nudged Kaiba toward the couch, switching their places, and Kaiba let him. He slid down to kneel between Kaiba’s legs.

“Yugi—”

“Your had your turn, it’s my turn now,” he said with a smile, tugging to untuck Kaiba’s shirt.

Kaiba spread his legs and leaned back, breath quickening as Yugi worked each little button until Kaiba’s sculpted chest was bare. Yugi laid little sucking kisses over his stomach as he undid the clasp and slid down the zipper of Kaiba’s pants.

“I’ve imagined this so many times,” Kaiba said softly, the instinctive candor bringing color to his cheeks.

Yugi’s hands were hot as he pulled down Kaiba’s silky black briefs, trail of dark hair thickening under his seeking fingers. Kaiba lifted his hips and Yugi slid his pants down, far enough that he could finally free the length of Kaiba’s thick cock.

Yugi’s eyes glazed as he tenderly wrapped his hands around Kaiba’s throbbing heat. A little bead of precum crested and dripped down the underside toward Yugi’s hand. He leaned in, lapping at it with his tongue—Kaiba hissed through clenched teeth. It had a sweet-salty taste, pleasant. He chanced another little lick, right at the slit.

“Tease,” Kaiba said, twitching in Yugi’s hand. He fisted Yugi’s hair, tugging gently.

There was a dark animal smell under the scent of woody soap that fogged Yugi’s brain, unlocking a deep instinct, a deep hunger. He took the glistening head of Kaiba’s cock into his mouth and sucked gently, tenderly, as he pumped the length of shaft with both hands.

Kaiba melted beneath him, kicking out his legs, broad shoulders sinking back into the couch. He even let go of Yugi’s hair, laying his hands palm-up on the cushion as he swallowed his moans until they were just low, rich hums.

“You like it?” Yugi said, holding Kaiba’s warm gaze as he laid a litany of sucking little kisses on the underside of Kaiba’s thick heat.

He was so close. The sight of the king of games kneeling before him, hair matted with sweat, eyes glistening with hunger, lapping at his aching head, sweet press of his fingers sliding in an easy rhythm—and a miraculous tenderness behind the hunger in the eyes, an awe, a gratitude, the shine of love—

Kaiba’s head bent back and he came violently over Yugi’s parted lips and chin, the muscles in his thighs straining against the rush of ecstasy. Yugi sat back on his heels, flushed and startled.

“Uwah,” he said, licking his lips. He rubbed his chin with the back of his hand.

Kaiba, trembling, grabbed Yugi under his arms and lifted him easily onto the couch. He pulled a blue silk handkerchief from his pocket, carefully folded over so that he held the clean side, and wiped the sticky drops from Yugi’s face. He pressed a kiss to the corner of Yugi’s mouth and mashed their foreheads together, cradling Yugi’s head with an almost painful press. He let out a trembling sigh.

“Yugi, I—”

“Seto-sama, Mokuba-sama is here with the audit results,” came his secretary’s voice from the intercom on his desk.

Kaiba growled loudly—Yugi hoped the sound didn’t penetrate the thick door—and stood, tucking himself in and fastening his pants with a sharp impatience. He hastily tucked his shirt and pressed the intercom so hard it jumped and slid along the desk.

“One moment.”

He looked over to Yugi on the couch and his eyes went from fierce to hungry.

“The bathroom,” he said, nodding to the door on the other end of the office.

Yugi nodded, looking around for anything that might give him away. He balled up the handkerchief and shoved it in his pocket, then dipped into the bathroom, quietly shutting the door behind him. 

He slid to the ground, leaning his back against the cool door. He sat there until his heart rate slowed.

A little smile tugged at his lips. He looked down at his still-sticky hands. The smile grew and grew until it made his face ache. Yugi got up and went to the sink. He turned on the faucet and watched the water swirl down the drain for a moment, lost in the memory of what had just happened. He washed his hands, splashed some water on his face.

He was patting his hands dry when Kaiba opened the door, fresh white suit on a hanger in his hands.

“I have to go. Tonight?” he said.

Yugi smiled and shook his head. “I have plans.”

Kaiba’s eyes shined with challenge.

“Tomorrow night?”

Yugi nodded.

“I’ll send Isono to pick you up.”

“Mhm,” Yugi said, hoping he didn’t sound overly eager.

He walked through the door, held open for him by a now collected-looking Kaiba. Kaiba caught his wrist as he passed, jerking him to a stop.

“Yugi.”

Yugi’s hair stood on end.

“Bring a change of clothes.”


	11. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “You lack faith,” Mahad said gently.  
>  Atem’s mauve eyes snapped up, lit with fury.  
> “Don’t you dare accuse me of lacking faith in him.”

Yugi walked the whole way home in the light spring rain.

Hands in his pockets, he rounded his shoulders, arched his head so that the drops ran down his long bangs, down the arms of his raincoat, dripping off the point of his elbow.

His deck case was strapped tight against his chest, over the pendant. He pulled his hood up when he felt a drop trickle down his neck to pool in the crook of his collarbone.

It wasn’t too long of a walk—maybe 30 minutes at a good clip—but he walked slowly, thoughtfully, so that it took closer to 45.

By the time he got to the game shop he was pretty well soaked.

“Yugi! You look like a drowned rat,” Jounouchi said, coming out from behind the register. “Kaiba’s riding you too hard, he could have at least given you a lift.”

Yugi shook out his raincoat and hung it by the door, trying very hard not to react to Jounouchi’s phrasing.

“I wanted to walk,” he said, wiping his feet on the mat. “All good here?”

Jounouchi gave him a thumbs up and a grin.

“Bakura left?”

Jounouchi shrugged.

“He’s creeping around in the back.”

Yugi patted his wet jeans.

“I’m gonna take a shower real quick. We can close a little early and get some food?”

“You’re the boss.”

Yugi took the stairs two at a time, focusing on the burn in his legs. It didn’t quite cut through the lingering tingle in his lips.

He dropped his deck case on his bed. The clasp slid open and his cards tipped out, spilling onto the sheets. He went to gather them up when the corner a blue-toned card peeked out between the regular cards of his deck. A ritual monster—and he wasn’t running ritual monsters in this version of his deck. He took the card out carefully.

Draconic Sibyl, the White Mage of Silence.

It occurred to him in a head twinging flash of insight to check his deck for the accompanying magic card. His fingers trembled as he sifted through his deck for the first time since the preceding night. There, toward the top of his deck, was a ritual magic card depicting a crowned high priest amid three dragon spirits.

“Silent Longing,” he said out loud, as though to finalize the realness. He put the cards side by side on his desk.

He should tell Kaiba.

Yugi reached into his pocket for his phone, but found the handkerchief instead. He sighed a long sigh. He felt good. He felt confused. His heart sang like a little hummingbird. His head hurt.

Overwhelmed. He felt utterly overwhelmed.

He went to do what he usually did when he felt overwhelmed, which was to wash his hands. He took the handkerchief with him and washed it instead, carefully in numbing cool water. The soft blue silk was monogrammed delicately in looping white script. It felt nice on his fingers. He hung it on the towel rack to dry.

He turned on the shower and started to undress. When he realized Kaiba’s scent, cut wood and white musk, had rubbed off on his tee shirt, he crushed it to his face and took an indulgent inhale.

A smile spread across his face, easing the tension in his head and shoulders. He got into the shower feeling light.

 

****

 

Mokuba slipped into his Sambas, tugging to make sure his socks didn’t show. He took stock of himself. Army green joggers, an oversize graphic hoodie, a snapback under which he tucked his hair for good measure. He looked normal—himself but not quite himself. He felt fantastic. He danced around the entryway, waiting for his brother to come.

Kaiba came quietly, practicing casual. He was wearing cuffed denim jeans, a loose gray t-shirt. He slipped into a well worn bomber jacket and sat down on a bench to put on a scuffed pair of army boots, hiding the incongruous argyle dress socks.

“Ready, Mokuba?”

Mokuba grinned. Kaiba slipped on a burnt orange beanie and led them out the door.

It wasn’t raining any longer but the air had cooled. Their feet quietly crunched the wet gravel. They walked around the grounds, through a garden to the groundskeeper’s quarters. Isono was smoking under a large budding willow.

“Ready, Seto-sama?” he said, crushing the butt under his perfectly shined oxford.

“I’ll drive,” Kaiba said, ducking into the driver’s seat of a little white Volkswagon Golf.

Isono cranked the passenger seat forward and Mokuba climbed into the back. Kaiba turned the motor over, let the brake out and off they went.

“Are you sure that you’re comfortable with just me?” Isono said.

“It’s a simple outing,” Kaiba said, fighting the little smile that kept threatening to show.

“Three meter distance?” Isono asked.

“Ten!” Mokuba insisted from the back.

Kaiba met Mokuba’s eyes in the rearview.

“Ten is fine,” he said.

Kaiba drove them downtown, pleased it had been a rainy evening. It meant fewer people out.

The arcade they liked most was off a main street, tucked behind a time-bleached diner.

Kaiba cursed the narrow alley as he tried for a third time to squeeze the Golf in the only vacant spot.

“I’ll park the car, Seto-sama. You go on ahead,” Isono said as close to tenderly as he was allowed, given his position.

Kaiba got out. Mokuba climbed straight over the center console and hopped out of the car, landing on the wet concrete with a little splash.

“Aaaalllll right,” he said, cracking his fingers. “Racing first or shooter?”

“Racing,” Kaiba said, throwing his long arm over Mokuba’s shoulders, shoulders that were getting higher all the time.

“What’s the wager?”

“You have this growing attachment to wagers. You need to spend less time around that trash.”

Mokuba squirmed out from under Kaiba’s arm and walked backward in front of him, setting their pace.

“Don’t call my girlfriend’s brother trash anymore,” Mokuba said, drawing out the word ‘girlfriend’ with a sly quirk of his lips.

“Oh, so you made it official?” Kaiba said, arching a brow. “Good.”

Mokuba’s jaw dropped.

“Good?”

Kaiba crossed his arms.

“You’re too intelligent to play games. With these things it’s better to know exactly what you want, and focus on that thing. You’ll waste less time with worthless pursuits.”

Mokuba shook his head and laughed, almost losing his hat.

“I believe you. But you’ve never even dated! How do you know?” he said, cobalt eyes wide but without challenge.

“You know, not everything has to be learned the hard way.” Kaiba said, mashing Mokuba’s hat against his chin-length hair.

“Yeah, yeah, yeah, I know. I’m still gonna learn things the way I learn things though,” he said, bumping his brother with his hip. They jostled the whole way into the arcade, the costume of normalcy giving them purchase to be what they had so precious little time to be.

Mokuba went to buy a can of tokens and Kaiba swept the mostly empty arcade with his eyes. He folded himself, satisfied, into the seat of the racing game. Mokuba put two tokens in the coin slot and they selected their racers.

“So I assume it went well last night?” Kaiba said, only half focused on the game. He watched Mokuba’s body language carefully out of the corner of his eye.

“Yeah we had a great time. I took her to that crepe place and then we walked along the pier for a while,” Mokuba said. He stuck his tongue out of the corner of his mouth as he rocked back and forth, swerving his digital Camero, the picture of boyish focus. Kaiba couldn’t help but smile.

“Are you being safe?” he said sternly, this time keeping his eyes solidly on the game screen.

Mokuba crashed his car and respawned from the starting line.

“Oh my god. No, we’re not. But we will when it happens,” he said, a blush darkening his tan cheeks.

“Did you make sure she got home safely?”

Mokuba bit his lip, mind drawn between the game and the conversation and the memory, still warm.

“Of course, I walked her the whole way back to Jounouchi’s. Oh, that reminds me,” Mokuba said, chancing a glance away from the screen to look his brother in the face. “Can I bring her back to her mom’s when her vacation is done?”

Kaiba laughed, touched by his brother’s bravado.

“Of course. I’ll file a flight plan.”

“Thank you, Nii-sama,” Mokuba said, clearly pleased. His car skidded past the finish line a hair before Kaiba’s and he pumped his fist in the air.

“Mokuba,” Kaiba said, sliding two more tokens in the slot. “I’d like to talk to you about something.

“Yeah, what is it?” Mokuba said, choosing a red Ferrari this time. Kaiba stuck with his white Bugatti.

“I’m going to have a guest over tomorrow night.”

Mokuba’s eyes widened a fraction, but he kept his face carefully neutral.

“A guest huh?”

Kaiba took a moment to pass Mokuba on a curve and score a speed bonus.

“An overnight guest. At home.”

They raced through two laps, trading places several times, before Mokuba replied.

“That sounds fun,” he said lightly, drifting through a dirt patch shortcut to swerve back onto the road a car length behind his brother.

“It’s Yugi, isn’t it?”

Kaiba activated the speed bonus and rushed past the finish line with a wide lead. He turned in the narrow seat to look Mokuba in the eye.

“Yes, it’s Yugi.”

“Well cool. Have fun,” Mokuba said, patting him on the shoulder. “Don’t bring any work home, that’s lame.”

“I’m having him over…for a date,” Kaiba said, frowning at his own admission.

They looked at each other for a long, pregnant moment. Mokuba broke into a roguish grin

“Well yeah, I figured,” he said, folding his arms behind his head. “It’s not that hard to see.”

Kaiba bristled, but Mokuba’s gentle joy took the fight out of him.

“If you have any questions…” Kaiba said, betraying his own awkwardness with the hoarseness in his voice, “feel free to ask.”

Mokuba felt on some level that this was a test. He wasn’t sure if it was meant as a test for him—Kaiba looked like he himself was being tested. He sat, poised but faintly tense, braced for a negative reaction.

“What would I even ask,” Mokuba said, shrugging.

Kaiba pursed his lips.

“You don’t want to talk about the fact that I’m—”

“Gay? Like I’m supposed to be surprised?” Mokuba laughed.

“I love you, Nii-sama.”

Kaiba came very close to betraying just how overcome with emotion he was, but he tensed his abs just in time. His voice dropped low.

“I love you too.”

Mokuba dropped two more tokens in the slot.

“Best two out of three.”

They raced in tacit peace, the only sound between them the music and sampled tire whines of the game. Kaiba beat Mokuba soundly. Mokuba smiled a wide, infectious smile.

“Yugi’s really cool. If he makes you happy, then I’m glad.”

Kaiba looked intensely at his little brother. Mokuba was completely relaxed, sincere. He meant it.

“But he better be good to you or else.”

To Mokuba, it was as ordinary as anything. Kaiba’s chest tightened. Mokuba was growing up to be a good man.

“If you can beat me at the zombie shooter, I’ll take us to that ice cream shop you like.”

“Before we even have dinner?” Mokuba said, grinning. “And what do you mean if?”

“Winner picks the dinner place, ice cream after if it’s you who wins” Kaiba said, crossing his arms. “That’s the wager.”

“Deal,” Mokuba said, hopping up, jingling the can of tokens.

Kaiba followed after him, feeling a good deal lighter. He slipped his phone out and discretely opened an app, ducking his head down for a security scan of his retina. He selected the second name in a list of favorites and a map appeared with a little red pin. Predictable as always, he thought. It was near theice cream parlor. He returned the phone to his pocket.

“Get ready to lose,” Mokuba said, sliding two tokens down the slot with a slick metallic sound.

Kaiba took the plastic gun and settled back into a practiced Weaver stance. The game counted down to start and he decided to align the sight to the necrotic ear of the looming zombie instead of the head. His shot grazed the attacker and he took a damaging swipe.

His score dipped, and he smiled.

 

****

 

Bakura had a few cat-like qualities. Private, aloof and affectionate in turns, tolerant—to a point. But most of all, he was food motivated. Yugi found this out about him early, and it had always come in handy when a mood came over. Whatever had been bothering Bakura before was soundly buried under okonomiyaki now. The three of them sat contented around their empty plates, ready to catch up on gossip.

“It’s not so crazy if you think about it,” Yugi said. “They’re close in age. They have similar vibes.”

“How did they get together anyway?” Bakura said, attention drawn by the phone in his lap.

“It was a fundraiser for macular degeneration. She volunteered and he was a sponsor,” Jounouchi said. “Mokuba sat with her the whole night. Wrote her organization a $30,000 check.”

Bakura whistled at the number.

“On top of the donation they already made.”

“Oh my god,” Yugi said, rolling his eyes.

“Well it worked,” Bakura said, all sly eyes and tiny flash of teeth. “He got her number.”

“He probably could have just asked,” Yugi said. “He’s definitely his brother’s son.”

They all chuckled at that.

“And what about you?” Yugi said, leaning toward Jounouchi. Their elbows touched as Yugi leaned in to say, “I saw you talking to Mai the other night.”

Jounouchi’s expressive amber-brown eyes went from warm to dark to very warm.

“We’re talking,” he said, crossing his arms. His smile betrayed him. “She doesn’t want to duel before the ranking melee next week, trying to keep her strategy to herself.”

“Color me curious,” Yugi said.

“Buuuuuut,” Jounouchi said, hooking his arm around Yugi’s neck. He leaned in to whisper “I think I convinced her to meet me for dinner.”

“There we go,” Yugi said, pounding the table lightly with his fist. “I knew it was just a matter of time.”

“Don’t let it break your focus at the ranking matches though,” Bakura said. “I’ll be there too, so I’ll know if you’re off your game because you’re in love.”

Joounouchi stood and propped his leg up on the chair, arm still hooked around Yugi’s neck. Yugi rose with him, slapping Jounouchi’s arm but laughing through his pain-pinched squint.

“Love will push me higher, causing me to fight harder than ever before,” he pronounced, fist in the air.

It was amid the benevolent chaos of laughing and jostling and ribbing one another that Bakura saw in the corner of his eye a figure in the window. Not too close—standing in the middle of the sidewalk, out of the range of the restaurant’s lights. A tall figure, familiar-unfamiliar, paused in an evening walk to watch them for a moment.

He caught the blue eyes with his own and they shared a tense moment of recognition. Bakura winked, the blue eyes widened. Then a flash of white teeth in an inaudible laugh. He knew the sound of it besides: an open bark of laughter, the rich undertones magnetic, just this side of grating for how arrogant it sounded, no matter the cause. Bakura turned back to the roughhousing, a vicarious satisfaction buoying his smile. Far be it for him to deny the draw of the obsessive, the deeply brooding, the almost predatory shape of the courting dance. In that he could see the appeal.

When Bakura glanced back to the window, Kaiba was gone.

He considered Yugi trapped under Jounouchi’s muscular arm, flushed with embarrassment and something else, that hair of his made even wilder by a retaliatory noogie. Smiling freely, no sadness behind the eyes like there always was, like there had been in spades after they left Egypt. He was at ease now. A little more open. A little more free.

A deep emotion welled up in Bakura. Finally. If Yugi could be freer, be stronger, be himself, then step by step Bakura could too.

He sipped his tea and tried to reign in his feelings before they welled up and out his eyes.

“Hey, do you guys wanna come over?”

Yugi’s voice brought Bakura back to the room.

“Hmm, yeah. I could test my deck against you before the ranking matches?”Bakura said, suddenly demure.

“Let’s do it. I gotta make sure I’m on point. Wouldn’t want to make Kaiba look bad,” Jounouchi said, tapping his nose. “Ya know, now that I’m official.”

Yugi’s eyes brightened.

“You decided to accept the offer?” Bakura said.

Jounouchi looked thoughtfully up over their heads, eyes on something distant, imagined.

“I hate to admit it, but a part of me was really happy. To be acknowledged by that guy. I feel…” Jounouchi frowned under the strain of articulating his feelings. “Like, somehow I should do this. Be a part of whatever this is. Even if it means being under him. You know?”

Yugi’s smile was wide.

“If even someone like Kaiba can come around and admit I’ve gotten stronger, what kind of person would I be if I couldn’t do the same?”

Bakura smiled and crossed his legs.

“He has changed, hasn’t he. We all have.”

Yugi had a knowing little smile on his lips.

“I don’t think any of us have changed at all. No.” He shook his head. “The more we grow, the more we become our true selves.”

They looked at him, quieted by his gentle speech.

“Kaiba was always interested in our success. If he wasn’t, he wouldn’t have helped us so many times. He wouldn’t let anything happen to the other me. To any of us.”

Yugi touched the pendant.

“He was always a good person. It’s just those good traits were distorted at first, buried under years of pain. Jounouchi,” he said, turning to place a hand on Jounouchi’s knee. “You’re one of the strongest people I’ve ever met. You’re not different at all from how you were when we first met. You’re just….more you.”

Jounouchi’s eyes creased in a warm smile.

“Guess so, huh.”

Yugi stood, slipping on his jacket.

“Let’s go!”

Bakura smiled and followed suit.

“Thanks for dinner.”

“Yeah, Yugi, thank you,” Jounouchi said.

“Thanks for covering me.”

They each fell in line beside Yugi and matched his gait as they started off toward the shop.

“You gonna make a habit of it?” Jounouchi said, quirking a brow.

“Huh. Well…” Yugi blushed andbreathed in deep through his nose. “Probably. We’re working on something pretty special.”

“Whatever it is, I’m sure it’s gonna be big,” Bakura said, bumping Yugi’s shoulder with his elbow. “We’re rooting for you.”

Jounouchi got the distinct feeling he was missing something. He filed the thought away and let the refreshing air wash over his face. Had he changed? He was stronger for sure, he felt better about himself most days. He started fewer fights. He was both the same person who stole Yugi’s puzzle piece out of a misplaced disgust and also the person that returned it. What did that make him in the end?

Jounouchi mostly listened through a light discussion on strategy since the last Duel Monsters expansion, uncharacteristically quiet. Bakura had a new deck—he’d show them once they got home.

Which they did, after Jounouchi’s detour to the convenience store that sold him beer with no ID. They got snacks, some magazines. With his new status as a sponsored pro duelist, Jounouchi had more time than ever before. He could spare a late night or two with friends.

“Gimme a sec, I gotta take a leak,” he said, kicking off his sneakers.

“Yup! I’ll set up in the living room. Bakura, you and me first?”

“Sounds good to me,” Bakura said.

Jounouchi closed the bathroom door and unzipped his jeans. He’d nearly finished by the time he noticed the little silk handkerchief drying next to plain towels on the rack. He frowned, considering the monogram.

SK.

Something in his stomach turned. He felt suddenly alien, a stranger in a place that was as much his home as the apartment he lived in. It was a cold, clammy feeling. Unpleasant, unsettling. He washed up, careful not to touch the handkerchief when he dried his hands.

By the time he got to the living room, Bakura was placing Necrovalley in the field zone.

“And now, I summon Gravekeeper’s Heretic,” he said. “How will you dismantle my Gravekeeper deck, Yugi? My strategy is air tight.”

Yugi smiled, eyes narrowed. “Don’t count your win too soon.”

Jounouchi cracked a beer. His creeping sense of inferiority in regards to Kaiba rubbed like a days-old blister. It was bad enough that his sister was so taken with the younger Kaiba. But Yugi, linked somehow with Kaiba the tormentor, Kaiba who starred in his weakest nightmares, Kaiba of the ancient soul, a king carved on a great stone stele thousands of years before Jounouchi was even an afterthought in his parents’ minds? It was too much.

He watched Yugi more than he watched the match. Yugi who shared everything with him, and had for years—until now. Yugi, who was handidly and almost imperceptibly pacing the match he played like it was nothing, and Bakura was no weakling. Yugi who beat the ring, beat Kaiba, beat Atem. Yugi who had laid his life out time after time for their sake, for his sake, asking nothing in return. Yugi who loved him, Yugi his closest friend, Yugi with secrets. Yugi who had once seemed pitifully helpless to him was now a thing Jounouchi could barely fathom.

He watched Yugi overtake Bakura easily, playing him with no malice but with a ruthless skill. Backlit by the TV, hair haloed in that blue light, he seemed to emit an aura. The impression he gave with that calm smile, those confident eyes, it was otherworldly. Too much like his other self, cut under with something else Jounouchi couldn’t identify. Jounouchi felt space opening up between them wider than he could ever cross. He drained his beer.

“What a game. I didn’t stand a chance,” Bakura said, laughing.

“No, you played well. I’d put money on you sweeping your ranking matches, unless you came up against Jounouchi or Mai or that transplant, the Korean pro. Then it’s maybe 50-50.”

“You’re too kind.”

Yugi gathered up his deck. He turned his eyes to Jounouchi.

“You and me?”

Jounouchi squinted, trying to summon the will.

“I’m not feeling it tonight. Maybe tomorrow.”

Yugi’s eyes crinkled.

“I’ve got plans tomorrow.”

Jounouchi was about to ask what Yugi could be doing on a Wednesday, his old day off, the day they normally spent hanging out, when Bakura’s phone rang. Bakura shot up,nearly fumbling the phone. He practically skipped out of the room.

“I’ll be right back guys—hello? Yeah, it’s me. You landed all right?”

Jounouchi was fidgeting with the tab on his empty beer can when Yugi nudged him under the coffee table.

“Is everything okay?”

Jounouchi fixed Yugi with a stony gaze.

“You and Kaiba. What’s going on?”

“What do you—”

“I can smell it. Something’s up.”

Yugi froze. His eyes went wide, his face flushed pink to the ears.

“What, you can’t tell me? You keeping secrets all of a sudden?”

“Jounouchi, it’s not—I don’t know, I’m not even sure—”

“It’s okay. I get it.”

Jounouchi stood. Yugi stayed frozen.

“I gotta go. Shizuka leaves soon, I should see if she needs anything.”

“Jounouchi, please,” Yugi said, and the broken note in his voice hit Jounouchi like a fistblow. He started to get angry.

“Call me when you’re not busy or something. I’ll see ya later.”

Yugi watched him leave. He felt staked to his chair by a powerful sadness.

By the time Bakura placed a hand on his shoulder, the tear that rolled down Yugi’s cheek had dried.

“He’ll come around.”

“I have to talk to him.”

Yugi felt the hand on his shoulder give a gentle squeeze.

“Let him cool off first. He’s had a hell of a week.”

Haven’t we all, Yugi thought.

 

****

 

Atem lifted his hands in supplication to the rising sun. He chanted the grand rising of the disk between the twin obelisks of the east. He prostrated himself, he poured libations. He walked back from the distant shrine holding his sandals, willing the warming sand to drain his distress.

“You cannot pray away the trial.”

Mahad was at the gateway waiting. The magician took his sandals, placed a steadying hand on his back.

“It’s happening too fast,” Atem said, mauve eyes pinched with worry. “I won’t have him suffer for this.”

The magician guided them through the gardens.

“It’s the high priest’s dimensional magic. It’s accelerating the process.”

“He would strongly object to you calling it magic,” Atem said, a wry smile on his lips.

They sat on a low stone bench under a trellis of lushly flowering vines.

“You lack faith,” Mahad said gently.

Atem’s eyes snapped up, fury lit in the irises.

“Don’t you dare accuse me of lacking faith in him.”

Mahad shifted the sandals in his lap.

“That wasn’t my intent. I know you have faith in him,” Mahad said, placing a hand on Atem’s knee. “I’m asking you to trust the process now.”

Atem’s balled fists relaxed in his lap.

“They’ll cross together when the time comes. You’ll have company through the trial.”

Atem cradled the puzzle to his chest. Soon. Sooner than he thought.

“How long?”

Mahad lifted his right hand, and a little swirl of fine dust began to spin. It coalesced out into a tiny model of a solar system. The little model ran through several rapid cycles before disintegrating in his hand.

“Four of our moons. Maybe less, maybe more.”

Atem’s almond eyes rose to the clear blue sky.

“And the dream passage?”

Mahad smiled.

“Tonight. If you want.”

Atem stood, bare feet soundless on the soft garden ground.

“Let’s prepare then.”


	12. Chapter 12

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “What, you want him all to yourself? Do you know how perverse that is?”

Yugi launched a blast of light from the end of his red scepter, right into the mouth of a humanoid creature with the face of a saber-tooth tiger. The creature rocked back, wailing, cranking its hairy arm up to retaliate. Yugi braced for the blow but it never came. The end of a spear had burst through the creature’s chest, stunning it to stillness. The wide cat’s eyes welled up with blood.

“Our win!” came Kaiba’s voice from behind the creature. He pulled out the spear and the creature slumped to the ground. “That’s your bonus, go ahead.”

Yugi picked up the glowing green disk above the creature. The game chimed a pleasant chord and Yugi watched as the gem on the top of his scepter turned into a crystal mace head.

“We can move ahead to the boss now. At our stats we don’t even have to bother resupplying before going through the forest.”

“Let’s go!”

Yugi trotted over to Kaiba and the two stepped into the dark forest.

They hiked easily, Kaiba slicing through hanging vines, Yugi levitating fallen tree trunks that blocked their path. Alone in the woods with the sunlight speckling the leaf-mottled ground, Yugi felt free to gaze openly at Kaiba. He looked good in the close-fitting white armor, the spear balanced across his wide shoulders. Kaiba caught him looking and gave a sly smile.

“How are you finding the haptics?”

Yugi swung his scepter experimentally, tapped the crystal end on a nearby tree. The gentle kickback flowed down his arms. He sunk the end of the scepter into the lush dark earth, felt the resistance grow as it pushed deeper. He felt the weight of his own long black cloak where it skated over his calves as he spun around.

“Incredible. The physics are so real.”

Kaiba shifted the spear to his outside shoulder and stepped close next to Yugi.

“We put a lot of effort there. The idea is for the game to be completely immersive.”

He placed his hand on the back of Yugi’s neck, sifted his fingers through the hair. Yugi shuddered and leaned into the touch.

“For example, you’re sensitive here in real life. So the fact that your body responded appropriately to the in-game stimulus is a good indicator that we’ve achieved immersion.”

Yugi felt warm all over. Now he understood why Kaiba wanted to beta this particular fantasy game. He laid his fingers over Kaiba’s and smiled.

“Did you take me here to test the gameplay…or the haptics?”

Kaiba laughed low and knowing. He stuck his spear into the ground.

“What do you think?”

Yugi pulled Kaiba to the side of the path, where there was a fallen tree. He stepped up onto the tree trunk and braced his hands on Kaiba’s shoulders. Kaiba cocked his head. They stood eye to questioning eye.

“So you don’t hurt your neck,” Yugi said, leaning in so their noses brushed.

Kaiba closed the distance, hands on Yugi’s hips. Soft, gentle.

“It’s not bad,” Yugi said, smiling against Kaiba’s cheek.

“You’re not won over,” Kaiba said, hands brushing lower.

“If I’m being honest,” Yugi said, arching his body to press against Kaiba’s rigid armor, “I miss the other senses. Taste. Smell. The soap you use, you can’t program that into the game.”

Kaiba slid his hand along Yugi’s thigh, tracing the curve of the quadriceps, the sartorius, feeling each muscle ripple under his fingers as he neared the juncture of the hip.

“But the sense of touch. Even temperature,” he said, tongue hot and wet on the soft skin under Yugi’s jaw.

“It’s very close,” Yugi said. “But nothing’s like the real thing.”

Kaiba laughed into Yugi’s neck. The rich vibrations tickled Yugi’s hands through the plate armor chest piece.

“I’ll give you the real thing,” Kaiba said, stepping back. “If you can clear the level.”

Yugi hopped off the log and grabbed his scepter from where it stood in the earth.

“Which way?”

Kaiba took up his spear and continued along the steepening path.

When they reached the mouth of a cave they were panting from exertion. Kaiba leaned heavily on his armored knee, gauntlet clacking against the steel plates on the high boots. Yugi took a knee beside him, mopping his brow with a corner of the heavy cape. Something shot out between them with a whipping noise and Kaiba instinctively pulled Yugi to him, shielding them with his armored back.

“It’s started,” he said.

“Inside the cave?”

“We’ll draw it out.”

Yugi rolled out from under him and held up his spiked scepter, ready to cast a light shield.

“Come out you slime!” Kaiba shouted, spear at the ready.

There was a slurping sound and a low rumble, and out of the mist of the cave came the hulking mass of a demon, slick amphibian head and arms, figured turtle shell on its back. It rose up on its slime-slicked back legs and let out a gurgling cry.

“It has magic resistance, and my spear will be almost useless against the shell,” Kaiba said, reaching into the pouch on his belt for a potion. He tossed it to Yugi. Yugi caught the potion and drank half, then handed it back to Kaiba.

“The markings on its shell,” Yugi said, crouching down in front of Kaiba. “It’s a puzzle. If you can cover me for a moment I think I can figure it out.”

They moved easily, perfectly in tune with one another. This game utilized no PowerLink technology, they weren’t connected mentally or physically, and yet Yugi felt as though he knew instinctively where Kaiba was, what he would do. It was an easy dance, one he knew automatically by rote. He cast his spells and swung his mace with a dance-like exuberance. There was excitement, a blooming joy, as they took down the boss together. With Kaiba bending to cooperation, even letting Yugi lead, they won in minutes, each wearing giddy, triumphant smiles.

“Nicely do—”

The game cut out abruptly.

Yugi was already stepping out of the game pod by the time Kaiba managed his exit. His own pod opened with a whine and a rush of air.

“Excited, are we?” Kaiba said as he swung his long legs over the edge of the game pod, down to the ground. He smoothed out his crinkled sleep clothes, soft, white Egyptian cotton pants and shirt.

“We beat the level,” Yugi said, eyes twinkling. He was wearing black athletic shorts and a black sleeveless shirt. They looked a mundane mirror of their game avatars.

Kaiba smirked and took his hand.

“Let’s go to the parterre. It’s warm out tonight.”

They walked quietly through the long halls, down the wide staircase. The house was quiet, dark except for low-lit sconces spaced widely on the Venetian papered walls.

Kaiba unlocked the wide French doors into the courtyard.

“We’ll have privacy. Mokuba’s room is in the south wing.”

Yugi gasped as they entered the courtyard. It was thick with lush greenery, most of it budding, some early blooms spicing the air with a thin, pleasant sweetness. He heard the murmur of water somewhere toward the far corner, could make out a wide pond in the moonlight.

“Come.”

Kaiba led him to a rattan loveseat that hung from the bough of an ancient maple. It was half-enclosed, padded with embroidered Persian pillows, the Kaibaesque excess colored with a surprising sensuality Yugi was coming to love. Kaiba folded himself into the rounded swing, bracing it still with a long leg left on the ground. He beckoned to Yugi.

Yugi climbed up, tucking his body between Kaiba’s legs. He kicked off his shoes and tangled his legs with Kaiba’s, resting back against Kaiba’s chest. Kaiba’s chin settled down into his wild hair.

“Comfortable?”

Kaiba draped his long arms around Yugi, hands resting in Yugi’s lap.

“This is nice.”

Kaiba took a shuddering breath in and hugged Yugi, squeezing almost painfully tight. When he let go, the air seemed to draw all the tension out of him. Yugi felt the large body beneath him relax all over.

Yugi placed his hands over Kaiba’s, drawing them up to his belly, lacing the fingers together. So this is what it feels like, he thought.

“Yugi.”

The name was almost whispered. Yugi wiggled to the side, craned his neck to look up at Kaiba.

Kaiba’s eyes were luminous. Yugi felt their clasped hands move low in his lap. The blue eyes, half-lidded now, went nearly black in the moonlight. Kaiba’s voice was hushed but intense, husky in his ear.

“The world is changing around us every day. I’ve seen it turn beneath me. I’ve made it turn,” he said, spreading his hand over the tight, nervous place under Yugi’s belly button.

“The links world is going to change the way people communicate. It’s going to change their priorities. Once we’ve finished testing the effects of prolonged use, we’re going to deploy it worldwide. To people of all creeds and echelons. It’s a precious thing that has to unfold in the right way, in the right time.”

Kaiba’s voice resonated in Yugi’s chest. Yugi leaned into the sound, surprised to realize just how much he really loved Kaiba’s little speeches, surprised that he always had.

“It’s going to grow beyond its ability to self-regulate some day. When that day comes, I want you to reign with me.”

“Seto…”

“I’ve fought my whole life alone, with only Mokuba to think of. I fought against you, against him, so hard that I turned around to fight myself. It changed me. You did that.”

Kaiba’s grip tightened.

“I want to fight with you from now on, by your side.”

Yugi turned until he was kneeling between Kaiba’s outstretched legs, hands on either side of Kaiba’s hips.

“I’ve fought by your side before, and I’ll do it again. Whenever you need me, I will,” he said.

“Yugi…”

Kaiba cradled Yugi’s face.

“Shape this world with me. I know we feel the same way. We both hunger for a time when mankind evolves beyond its utter confusion and chaos, its avarice and violence. We can wake them with the links world. We can create that future.”

Yugi smiled, placed his hands over Kaiba’s.

“I’m with you. We have some pretty different ideas about just how to shape the future, as you say. But that’s why you need me, isn’t it?”

He leaned in to place a soft kiss on Kaiba’s lips.

“When to control, when to let go. When to force, when to submit. It’s a game,” he said, eyes full of knowing, dancing with light. “If that’s what you’re asking, I’ll play.”

Kaiba’s eyes went from half-lidded to narrowed. He slid his hands up Yugi’s thighs, fingers skirting under the shorts.

“You’ll play with me, hm?”

“Mmmmhm.”

Yugi brushed his fingers down Kaiba’s neck, tracing over the adam’s apple, down to the dip between the collar bones. He undid button after button until the shirt fell away, sliding off Kaiba’s muscular shoulders to bunch at the arms. He paused to apprehend the sight, trace the memory to permanence: moonlight, spring breeze, the increasingly ragged rhythm of Kaiba’s breathing. The blue eyes cutting through the darkness. It was the first memory he filed away in a place that wasn’t for sharing, a place that was all his own.

 

 

****

 

A painful spasm wrenched Kaiba from sleep. He was on his hands and knees in a dark stone room. His wrists ached, his palms stung as though he’d braced himself from falling. He shifted his weight back to his knees and rose slowly, trying to account for his surroundings.

There was a cool, familiar weight on his arm. He traced the gold contours with his eyes.

“It’ll all come back to you, I’m sure.”

The voice sent a jolt through his spine.

“Get up.”

Footsteps echoed behind him. He rose to his full height and turned, eyes adjusting to the flickering lamplight.

Atem stood before him, quaking with a dark rage.

“Kaiba.”

“Yuu—”

“You know better than to call me that here.”

Kaiba’s head swam. The weight of the cape on his back, the kilt on rough his thighs, the heavy gauntlet on his arm, it cowed him. His last recollection was drifting to sleep, spent and sweat slick and curled against a warm weight. He summoned his focus.

“Atem.”

“Got your legs back?”

Kaiba balled his fists, body instinctively responding to Atem’s defiant posture.

“This is what you wanted, isn’t it? To fight me? Go ahead.”

Kaiba’s mouth drew into a tight line.

Atem jackknifed his arm and the DiaDankh opened with a metallic scrape, a sound like a sword unsheathing.

“Diaha!”

Kaiba punched his own arm out to the side,tiers of the DiaDankh catching the lamplight in flashes of gold as they unfurled.

“Whatever made you so angry,” Kaiba said, meeting Atem’s glare with his own, “I’ll crush it right out of you.”

“You asked for this,” Atem said, forehead glowing under his heavy gold crown. “I’m just finally giving it to you.”

Curse of Dragon appeared coiled around Atem and screeched, then lurched forward.

Kaiba raised his disk bearing arm as a shield but the whip of the dragon’s tail cut a gash from elbow to shoulder and knocked him down, sending him skidding, scraping along the stone floor. Kaiba grit his teeth and chewed the pain and his rage down into single thought: defeat him.

The warrior Duos appeared before him, sword drawn.

“Attack!” he yelled, lurching to his feet.

Duos leaped into the air and sunk its sword into the dragon’s head. The dragon screeched and whipped around and Duos threw its weight against the sword, splitting the dragon’s skull with a wet crack.

“Come, my eternal servant,” Atem yelled into the dissipating fog left in the dragon’s wake.

Mahad appeared in a swirl of smoke in his magician’s black and purple, staff ready and glowing. His face went from fierce to worried when he saw Duos. Duos stood en garde in front of Kaiba, who was bleeding from the gash on his arm, panting, clutching at his scraped and bloody thigh.

“My king, he’s forgotten how to properly summon,” Mahad said, but Atem’s eyes were locked on Kaiba.

“Black burning!” he shouted, and Mahad complied with a wince.

Duos sublimated into nothing, and the blowback hit Kaiba in a hot wave.

“Why are you doing this?” Kaiba shouted, trying to focus his mind through the pain. If he could call the Blue Eyes—

“Finish him, Mahad!” Atem shouted.

Mahad stepped forward, staff raised.

“Forgive me, my friend,” he said, and swung the staff down with his full weight behind it.

There was a thunder crack and a blinding flash of light and Atem raised his arm against it. He felt a powerful blow hit him at the core, a dull radiating pain like that flowed up his throat andand out his nose till he tasted blood running warm over his lip.

When the light died down he saw Mahad’s staff lay on the ground beside him, knocked away. The Silent Magician stood with her arms splayed, guarding Kaiba.

“So even his spirits come to your aid,” Atem said softly.

They all stared silent as the smoke cleared and the swirling dust died down. The only sound was from the rhythmic drips of Kaiba’s blood as it plinked against the floor.

Atem broke the silence with a ragged inhale.

“Do you love him?”

His voice rippled with emotion.

“Do you?” Kaiba spat blood and foam onto the ground, face twisted in pain and anger and disgust. “What, you want him all to yourself? Do you know how perverse that is? You were the same person—”

“No,” Atem said, hand raised in warning. “We were the same body.”

Atem brushed past Mahad, past the still-guarded Silent Magician. He stood square in front of Kaiba, their gazes leveled by Kaiba’s pained lean.

“Answer my question,” Atem said as he wiped at the blood that dripped slowly from his nose.

“Don’t be foolish,” Kaiba said, sneering. “Of course I do.”

Atem closed his eyes.

“I’m not his keeper. And even if he wants you, you’re a ghost. I’m still not convinced this isn’t a dream.”

“Listen to your senses, Seto,” Mahad said.

“I promised I’d deliver him to you, didn’t I? We’ve been training for it every day. It’s only a matter of time before we can stabilize the quantum dimensioning long enough—”

“Kaiba, listen,” Atem said, fatigue in his voice. “You may have delivered him to me permanently. It isn’t meant to be his time yet. But we received a warning.”

Kaiba struggled to his full height. What little color there was left in is face drained completely.

“What kind of a warning?”

Mahad sighed and put himself between them. He inclined his head toward Atem.

“My king. May we go to the gardens? It pains me that a friend should bleed under our own roof, and you could do with a bit of healing yourself.”

Atem stood, finally resigned: lips parted and smeared with drying blood, mauve eyes glassy and full of grief. He pressed his DiaDankh closed.

“Fine.”

Mahad’s magician’s robes vanished, leaving a simple linen shift and belt. He placed a hand on each man’s shoulder.

Kaiba slid his DiaDankh closed and the Silent Magician vanished, leaving a wisp of white smoke.

“Come, Seto. Let’s tend to your wounds.”


	13. Chapter 13

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “See you on the other side.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to everyone who reads. Means a lot to me that you do!

Mahad sat them side by side on a bench under a balcony dripping with hanging vines. Tall palms that marked the corners of the courtyard whispered in the wind. Mahad said a silent prayer of gratitude to the fact that they had taken the fight out of each other. It was easier to treat them that way.

“Chin up,” Mahad said, nudging Atem. He pinched his thumb and forefinger into a ring and blew through the ring, directly up Atem’s nose.

Atem coughed and sputtered but by the time he recovered, the color had returned to his cheeks and his eyes were clear.

“Drink this,” Mahad said, materializing an earthenware cup.

“Yes, Mahad,” Atem said, taking the cup.

“Now you. Stand up, please,” Mahad said, beckoning to Kaiba.

Kaiba stood with a grumble and Mahad laid his broad palms over the scraped plane of Kaiba’s thigh. There was a sizzling sound and Kaiba hissed through his teeth. The wounds closed under Mahad’s skilled hands.

“This you ought to do yourself,” he said sternly to Atem. “Come, help me.”

Atem set down the cup and stood, face something between guilty and indignant. He cupped Kaiba’s shoulder with his slim, dark hands.

Kaiba made to jerk away but Mahad held him by the wrist.

“Let him. We don’t want you carrying this back to your waking life,” Mahad said, nudging Atem with his hip. “Do we, my king?”

“I’m sorry I took out my anger on you,” Atem said quietly.

Kaiba smirked, thoroughly satisfied with the picture of Atem, subdued, submitting in apology, dried blood smeared on his blushed cheek.

“Next time I’ll give you a good reason to get angry, and by then I’ll have remembered how to use this,” he said, lifting his DiaDankh.

Mahad took Kaiba’s elbow between his palms and pressed close to Atem. The two chanted in whispers and blew softly into the still-weeping gash that ran from Kaiba’s elbow to his shoulder. Their breath was like ice on his skin, prickly-painful and cool. The skin knit itself together, leaving a long pink scar.

“Use your palms,” Mahad said, pressing the center of his palms along the mark.

Atem slid his hands from the round curve of the shoulder cap to the plane of the bicep where the scar ran. Kaiba shivered under the touch, warm and shockingly gentle—not unlike the way that Yugi had touched him just hours before. He could smell Atem’s hair, patchouli and firesmoke and honey, and he was struck by the tiny differences he could discern between the tan man before him and the pale mirror he left in the waking world.

Atem’s ears were smaller, his nose just a bit more pronounced. The hands were appreciably different, though roughly the same size: Atem again the leaner, the more angular, but surprisingly softer version. Atem was built a little more lean all over, a little bit sharper in a way that was down to the bone and not just the age gap, which was closing and would soon move in reverse. Yugi continued to age, but Atem seemed frozen at the age he sealed himself in the puzzle, the age he died.

They were different people after all. Two different but uncommonly similar people. With Atem at his side and Yugi so fresh in his mind now, he could see it in the collarbone, in the jut of the hip, in the discernible high arch through the woven hemp slipper: a world of subtle differences that called for confirmation, for a tactile inventory, a rubric, a metric. He swallowed back the image of them side-by-side.

The pain of Mahad’s healing magic was a welcome distraction. It wasn’t the first time Kaiba had viewed the god of games with hunger in his eye, but it was the first time he worried someone may notice. He shifted in his thin linen kilt and tried to collate his feelings toward the man before him.

Hunger and anger and bloodlust mixed with his unwavering respect and awe for the mind behind those infuriating mauve eyes. It was an intoxicating combination. Theirs was a deep and violent history, a rivalry that was birthed in mutual intrigue and came of age in hate, only to mature into a deep respect, a bond, a promise to strive. The endless road of battle clearly stretched into the world beyond. If there was a world beyond even this, Kaiba knew it stretched there too. To color that holy bond with his desire would be a disservice—and so he smothered his hunger. It went down easy with thoughts of Yugi curled up in his sheets.

“That’s the best we can do for a wound that deep. The rest, time will mend,” Mahad said as they stepped aside.

Kaiba lifted his arm, rolled his shoulder. The pain was gone.

“Thank you,” he said to Mahad. Then, turning to Atem, “Both of you.”

Mahad nodded and Atem sat down on the bench again. Kaiba took his place next to Atem.

“Now tell me. What’s happening to Yugi?”

Atem clasped and unclasped his hands.

“He may be in danger.”

“Of what?” Kaiba’s voice came pinched with outrage, though he tried his best to calm it.

“Let me explain the context,” Mahad said, leaning against the trunk of a tall palm tree. “Yugi possesses the godseed. It was planted in his brain at birth. It’s what made him able to bear the soul of the pharaoh. Had he lived his natural life three thousand years ago, it would have sprouted and taken root slowly over the course of his lifetime, like yours did.”

“The problem is, it’s blossoming too fast,” Atem said.

“The—technology you use to transcend dimensions apparently accelerates the growth of the godseed.”

“I’m trying to be patient,” Kaiba said, pinching the bridge of his nose. “What are you talking about when you say god seed?”

“Exactly that. It’s the seed of godly wisdom, given by the gods themselves. It’s part of what makes the Plana who and what they are. It’s said that it’s the seed of the celestial lotus from which all creation came,” Mahad said.

“The pineal gland. It’s a small area of the brain directly over the pineal gland,” Atem said. “Only Plana possess it. And Yugi’s is a special kind.”

Mahad made a circle with his fingers, and a smooth plane filled the space between.

“Look into this. You’ll see the lotus in the garden of Ra that grows from Yugi’s spirit.”

Kaiba peered into the glass in Mahad’s hands. He saw a wide expanse of still, dark water. The water was dotted here and there with water lilies. Mahad angled his hands and there came into focus a grouping of lily pads, each with a lotus blossom on top: one a vibrant blue like the lilies of the nile, one a rich purple, and one yet a tight green bud. 

“This bud is Yugi’s soul flower. It’s already broken the water. It could bloom within the next year.”

“It isn’t due to fully bloom for at least another ten,” Atem said wearily.

“I see.” Kaiba stared at his empty hands. “And what would happen if it does?”

Mahad clapped his hands together and the glass disappeared.

“We can’t know for sure. Few have survived the blooming of the godseed without the transfigurative ritual called the trial.”

“If he doesn’t take the trial? It could manifest as a tumor,” Atem said. “He could have seizures or hallucinations. His body could just give out from the strain.”

Kaiba stood, fists clenched tight at his sides.

“And PowerLink caused this?”

Mahad looked at Kaiba with something akin to pity.

“He pulls physical matter through the barrier between worlds. He stands on the east bank of the river of life night after night calling to Atem, and we hear him way on the other side because of the strength of his presence. It’s all highly unusual,” Mahad said softly. “All we can do is make our best guess about everything thats’s happening.”

“I don’t understand. I crossed over alone. I’ve had more exposure to the Dimension Cube than he has by orders of magnitude. Why him and not me?”

Atem laughed, and Kaiba wondered if he’d gone entirely mad.

“You underwent the trial when you became a high priest. Your godseed bloomed under the guidance of the priests, with all their magic to protect you,” Atem said, looking at Kaiba with a peculiar fondness. “Or don’t you remember, Seto?”

“It’s beyond me to question your occult nonsense any longer,” Kaiba said, cradling his head.

Mahad placed a hand on Kaiba’s shoulder.

“His best chance is to undergo the trial. Here with us, where we can protect him to the best of our abilities.”

Kaiba’s eyes were resolute when he lifted them to meet Mahad’s.

“What do I have to do?”

Atem stood, straightening his mantle.

“Come again, the way you came before. Bring him with you. We’ll take care of the rest.”

“He isn’t ready yet,” Kaiba said. “We haven’t even begun the aeronautics training.”

“There’s no time. You have two weeks, maybe three on your side before he’ll start to manifest serious symptoms of the blooming,” Mahad said gravely.

“Then I’ll make it happen in one,” Kaiba said.

Atem bent to pick a tiger lily from a cluster in a low garden bed. He carefully twirled it by the stem.

“He likes tiger lilies. Will you bring it to him for me?”

Kaiba cautiously took the flower.

“What do you want me to tell him?”

“You can tell him that we’ve asked him here. But don’t tell him about the trial,” Mahad said.

“I’ll do as you say. But if he asks me directly why we’re coming so soon, I won’t lie to him.”

The three men stood in the quiet of the garden, eyes on the red and orange flower in Kaiba’s hand. Mahad clasped Kaiba’s shoulder once more.

“You aren’t going to ask what happens if he fails the trial?”

Kaiba turned his icy gaze on Mahad.

“He won’t fail.”

“Our faith in him is the first test of the trial. No, I don’t think he’ll fail,” Atem said, giving Kaiba a confident little smile. He placed his palm on the center of Kaiba’s chest and gave him a good push, speaking into the rush of air that followed:

“See you on the other side.”


	14. Chapter 14

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “I...ugh, this is all so complicated.”  
> “Wrong. It’s not complicated,” Bakura said, leaning back. “It’s just not easy.”

Yugi turned slowly, deep in sleep, sun spilling over his face to tap gently on his eyelids through a slim crack in the curtains. Kaiba bit back the irrational stab of jealousy he felt as the a breeze through the open window lifted the curtains so that the sun spilled down Yugi’s hip, down his bare leg to kiss the soles of his feet before running back up his body as the curtain settled. Face framed in golden light, Yugi looked held by the sun. Kaiba pictured him as antidote bathed in moonlight, hair matted, lips plump with use, hands clawing at the dark sheets that only half covered him now. It calmed Kaiba some.

He stared at the delicate flower in his hand. He wasn’t sure if he should bring it down to the lab for analysis, stick it in the mass spectrometer where Yugi would never see it, where he could isolate any unearthly contaminants for study. He thought about crushing the flower between his large, trembling hands. He laid it on the pillow next to Yugi’s head instead.

He slipped on a dark blue robe and walked to the wide oak secretary in the corner of his room. He rolled up the cover on the desk and pulled up a holofield, bending forward for a retinal scan. He swiped his fingers over the felt surface of the desk and a keyboard projected out from the bottom of the holofield. He pinched outwards to scale it up so that it was more comfortable for his hands.

He brought up all of the medical data he had compiled on Yugi, plus every record that had been digitized since the time of his birth, knowing but not caring what kind of fees he would have to pay if anyone ever managed to track his access. It was to his advantage that all medical databases in the country were handled by KC server farms.

Kaiba read the files rapidly, tagging anything even remotely unusual for further review. Yugi’s medical history was routine until about age eleven, when he became suddenly accident-prone. Kaiba quietly fumed as he reviewed notes on various sprains, two x-rays of fractures, a concussion and one clean break of his wrist. Dental records showed a cracked tooth that had been repaired with a cap. Some other minor incidents—and all of that was just what made it into the record. It was startlingly familiar to Kaiba as the son of Gozaburo, and he wondered, not for the first time, how much of their history ran parallel.

There was surprisingly little medical data during the period of time between Death-T and Battle City, but Kaiba had some basic read outs from DuelDisk vitals monitoring, data kept for purposes of measuring stress response. Kaiba heard Yugi sigh and the ruffling of sheets and he allowed himself a moment to watch the sun trace up and down Yugi’s compact form again, a kouros in miniature, like the David with a punk’s hair for all its balance of softness and muscle and the proportionally outsized hands. Kaiba wanted to freeze the moment for safekeeping, knowing heavy in the pit of his stomach that there was a storm coming for the both of them. He pressed on through the data.

Finally he made his way through the records of their training to the FMRI taken after the first time they ripped matter out of ether with the PowerLink drive. He stepped through it frame-by-frame, scanning for anything unusual, any clue that would make sense of what he’d heard way on the other side of the riverbank. Nothing about the scan was normal because nothing about the way Yugi’s brain functioned was normal. He checked for structural defects and areas of decreased activity. He ran through the scan forwards and backwards, checking and re-checking and then checking again.

When Kaiba saw it his mind went cold ear-ringing blank, as though a bomb had gone off. It was small but distinguishable, right where Atem said it would be. He wasn’t a neurologist, he couldn’t have been expected to see it the first time around, especially when they weren’t looking for—

A tumor.

He wasn’t a neurologist, he wasn’t any kind of doctor. He should have had the scan reviewed right after it was taken. He didn’t because the project wasn’t public and he’d overestimated his own abilities. The urge to break something was overwhelming, so he balled his fists so tight that his nerve ran cold from the wrist to the elbow. He wasn’t a neurologist, he couldn’t have been expected to catch it, he should have caught it anyway and it was his responsibility because it was his technology and now his life felt like an empty stream of events leading to this one terminal failure.

He closed the holofield and walked heavily to the foot of the bed. It pained him to look down at Yugi, trace the shape of Yugi’s body with his eyes. He didn’t deserve this.

Yugi blinked the room around him into focus. Unfamiliar vaulted ceiling with crown molding like an old hotel, soft navy blue sheets that smelled like cedar and rain and the salt musk of their bodies and Yugi’s blood rose all the way up to the tips of his ears as he remembered. They were in Kaiba’s room. Kaiba stood at the foot of the bed, watching him with an unreadable expression.

“Morning,” Yugi said, voice cracking with lingering sleep. Yugi shifted and a little velvety object slid down the pillow to brush his cheek.

“A lily!” hesaid, taking the speckled red-orange flower. “How did you know?”

Kaiba’s face flashed tension then forcibly relaxed.

“It’s from him. I dreamed last night.”

Yugi’s eyes went wide. He pulled himself upright and looked at the flower in the filtered morning light let in by the sheer white curtains. It was flawless and fragrant and warmly alive and it had the same quietly awe-drawing quality that the cards and the cartouche had, the same little note of impossible rightness that floated in the back of his mind when he looked into Kaiba’s deep blue eyes.

“You saw him in your dream?”

Kaiba gazed up at the ceiling, wondering just how many exponents he’d have to use to measure the distance his spirit traveled in sleep last night.

“I hesitate to call it dreaming anymore.”

Yugi cupped the flower to his lips, inhaled long and quiet. His eyes darkened with a private sadness that made something in Kaiba rage.

“I wonder why he comes to you,” Yugi said, flicking a sheepish glance Kaiba’s way. “You know, and not me.”

“There’s no accounting for taste,” Kaiba said, stepping around to Yugi’s side of the bed. He tucked a rebellious golden curl behind Yugi’s ear.

“Right. Some of us have expensive taste,” Yugi said, softly dropping the flower to the bed. He stood and took up the end of the belt that kept Kaiba’s robe closed and he gave a little tug.

“You mean me? I’m a simple man,” Kaiba said, feeling his tension drop with each little tug of the belt.

“I meant myself,” Yugi said, letting the robe fall open. He slid his hands into the robe, gripping Kaiba’s hips.

Kaiba’s ragged intake of breath was a lust-drenched sob and he bit it down and chased it with a deep, desperate kiss. Yugi pushed the robe off and down his arms and they let it slide to the floor. Yugi ran his hands down Kaiba’s thigh, breaking their kiss to look where he’d felt an unexpected texture.

“Oh my god,” Yugi said, suddenly stiff, alert. “What happened?”

Kaiba looked down at his own leg. There were ragged streaks running down his thigh, the pink of freshly healed scrapes. He had a fist-sized bruise on his hip, and a thin white scar that ran up the length of his bicep.

Yugi touched the scar lightly, brows knit in worry.

“How? When did this happen?”

“It’s not important,” Kaiba said, grabbing his wrist. “Listen to me. We have to cross over. I can’t explain to you what’s happening because I don’t fully understand it myself. We have one week to prepare.”

Yugi scanned Kaiba’s face. Kaiba’s eyes were pinched at the corners, his mouth small and drawn. Yugi recognized the look even though he’d only seen it once before: it was the look Kaiba wore when he stood on the edge of Pegasus’ tower, deeply desperate, recklessly committed.

“Cross over?”

“To where he is,” Kaiba said.

Yugi’s heart thumped in the back of his throat, threatening to cut his air off.

“Please,” Kaiba said, pressing Yugi’s hand between his own. “Trust me.”

Yugi winced at the word ‘please.’ Kaiba begging didn’t sit well with him. He felt his body ripple with anticipatory tension. His senses sharpened, his eyes hardened.

“Okay,” he said, swallowing. “What do I have to do?”

 

****

 

“Kind of sudden, don’t you think?” Jounouchi said between bites of curry.

Bakura poured batter into a muffin tin, careful not to spill.

“It’s very sudden,” he said over his shoulder. He wiped his hands on his white and yellow gingham apron. “It’s sudden and it’s strange.”

He brought his bowl to the table and sat down opposite Jounouchi.

“To brand it as a Battle City reunion exhibition is insane to me,” Jounouchi said, waving his fork. “I mean, he lost Battle City, doesn’t that look bad for him to bring it up?”

“It was one of their most popular tournaments to date,” Bakura said, pushing the curry around in his bowl. “It’s not the worst idea from a marketing standpoint.”

“Yeah but why now? And why so sudden?” Jounouchi said. “I don’t like what’s going on between them, something’s definitely off and whatever it is, Yugi’s hiding it from me. It’s almost like…like…”

“Like they’re together?” Bakura supplied, taking a small bite of rice.

Jounouchi sagged against his chair.

“Yeah. It’s…”

“Confusing?”

Bakura was staring at him, eyes dark but wide. Not a glare, but not his usual detached kindness. It was something new that twisted Jounouchi’s guts into a tight knot: blank and darkly seeing, clear and focused, like an animal’s eyes. Jounouchi felt like he was being dissected alive.

“Malik was here recently,” Bakura said, voice disarmingly even. “He’ll be back for the exhibition. I’m glad, to be honest. I didn’t think I’d see him again so soon.”

“You…you guys…”

Jounouchi placed his fork down, feeling as though he had walked into a spider’s web and that anything he could say would only trap him more.

“I felt surprised on some level the first time we hooked up,” Bakura said, licking the back of his spoon. “But that was the same level that had been in denial a long time.”

Bakura took a little bite of curry, taking time to chew and swallow.

“It should come as no surprise though. Me, Malik. Kaiba, Yugi.” Bakura laughed quietly and Jounouchi flinched at the memory of the ring spirit.

“I mean, you’ve seen the way he looks at Yugi. You can act surprised. But I know you’re being obtuse. It’s not that you don’t understand, it’s that you don’t want to understand.”

Jounouchi had pressed back against his chair, a subconscious retreat. He fumbled for something to say.

“I…ugh, this is all so complicated,” he said, fists balling up in his lap.

“Wrong,” Bakura said, leaning back. “It’s simple. It’s just not easy.”

Jounouchi clenched his jaw, fists tightening in his lap. He opened his mouth to speak, but snapped it shut again. His eyes started to well and he looked up at the ceiling to keep his frustration from spilling over.

Bakura’s eyes softened.

“It doesn’t have to be hard. You’ve known Yugi for how many years?”

“A long time,” Jounouchi said quietly.

“And of all his friends, you know him better than most.”

Jounouchi sighed. He folded his hands behind his head.

“I thought so.”

“It’s true. And you know it’s true.”

Bakura examined his own distorted reflection as it morphed over the surface of the spoon. Jounouchi let out a ling sigh.

“You’re right. I guess I coulda guessed.”

Bakura smiled, and the two of them relaxed.

“I wish I didn’t have to guess. I wish he woulda told me outright.”

Bakura took a spoonful of curry, reminded himself to cook the roux more next time.

“He probably didn’t tell you because he’s still figuring himself out. He’s always been open and honest with us, I just feel like he’s the kind of person who keeps things to himself until he’s really really sure.”

“Makes sense,” Jounouchi said, brightening. “Still, Kaiba? All the people on this earth.”

Bakura shrugged. “He’s pretty cute. Objectively speaking.”

“Oh come on, not you too,” Jounouchi said, raking a hand through his hair.

Bakura laughed.

“Kaiba’s not my type. But Yugi sees things in people right away that the rest of us don’t,” Bakura said, crossing and uncrossing his ankles as he thought about their petite enigma of a friend. “I used to think I could read people well. But he’s always two steps ahead of me.”

“That’s how I feel when I duel him,” Jounouchi said. “He’s on another planet.”

Jounouchi bent to eat and Bakura watched with a smile as he emptied the bowl.

“I’ll put those mini cheesecakes in the oven,” Bakura said, standing. “Takes about forty minutes. We’ll review our decks hm? I’m excited, I never got to play in Battle City for myself.”

Jounouchi handed Bakura his empty bowl.

“You’re one hell of a cook, man.”

Jounouchi watched Bakura blush and smile and drop his gaze, suddenly demure. He was so soft for someone who could be so scary, Jounouchi thought with a shake of his head. Bakura was even more incomprehensible than Kaiba. Then again, the apron, the baking—could have guessed, after all.

“So you and Malik huh?” he said, cracking a smile. “You gonna be able to take him out if you face him?”

Bakura slid the muffin tray into the oven and turned to flash Jounouchi a coy smile.

“You didn’t read the whole invite, did you?”

Jounouchi shrugged.

“It’s a tag team tournament.”


	15. Chapter 15

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “You’re gentler now, more patient. Love will do that to a man, you know.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you for reading, I know it’s a long one <3 more excitement and sexy chapters to come

The Kaiba brothers sat at the chef’s table in L’heure Bleue, glad for the noise and bustle of the kitchen, as it filled the gloomy lulls in their conversation.

“Is it bad?” Mokuba said as switched plates with his brother.

“To be honest, I liked the tartare better at Le Coucou,” Kaiba said, taking a sip of Bordeaux.

“Are you being serious?” Mokuba said, inclining his head toward the sommelier who hovered to the side, indicating he would like a Bordeaux of his own now, though if you asked him, ‘needed’ was a more appropriate verbage.

“Nii-sama, I meant the tumor.”

Kaiba placed his fork down and patted his lips with the dark blue napkin in his lap.

“It’s small, but it’s too deep in the brain to biopsy.”

“Why haven’t we seen any sign of this in any of the hundreds of test subjects for Neurons? Those tests have been going on for almost two years.”

“I have a feeling it’s got something to do with PowerLink specifically.”

Mokuba took a generous sip of wine.

“Well what about you? You need an MRI to see if it’s effected you the same way.”

“I do not. I,” Kaiba said, pausing to drain his glass, “am immune.”

Mokuba hated this. His brother rarely drank, and almost never to excess. When he did, it reminded Mokuba of their paternal uncle, a violent drunk with a mean streak. The years between their father’s death and the orphanage were in a lot of ways harder for Mokuba than Gozaburo had been.

“I can’t talk to you when you’re like this. You’re not making any sense.”

Kaiba straightened up in his chair and nodded a thank you to the understated grace of the quiet sommelier as he backed away, leaving Kaiba’s glass full of Chateau Auson Grand Cru again.

“Mokuba.”

It came out more forcefully than Kaiba had intended, and Mokuba shot up in his chair like a scolded child.

“Mokuba,” he said, softer this time. “I find myself in a difficult place, full of difficult challenges.”

He looked openly at his little brother, disinhibited and full of emotion.

“You know that I would never choose to leave you, right? Never again. Not unless I absolutely had to.”

Mokuba shrunk in his three piece suit, seeming for all his editorials and all his net worth and achievements like a little boy.

“Where are you going?”

Kaiba took a long, measured inhale. He counted to ten as he let it out.

“I’m launching the prototype. At the end of this week.”

“No way!” Mokuba said, fighting the urge to stand. “It’s just a prototype. It’s barely even finished, let alone tested. And anyway it’s not meant to be piloted by one person.”

“I’m taking Yugi with me.”

The color drained from Mokuba’s face.

“I don’t believe you. This, the tournament, the living will…you’re playing a joke on me. A joke. Right, Nii-sama?”

Kaiba swirled the wine, watching the dark dripping streaks it left on the glass.

“I’ve given Isono power of attorney. But he will defer to you at every point, should you want to make decisions for yourself. I have full confidence in your ability as interim CEO in my absence.”

“You’re talking like you’re gonna just disappear,” Mokuba said, tears sliding down his cheeks. “It’s not fair. What the hell is going on with you? Why are you doing this?”

Mokuba reached for his brother’s hand. Kaiba let him.

“Please, tell me what’s going on.”

“I’ve been receiving…information. From a source that I believe is reliable.”

“One source?”

Kaiba gripped Mokuba’s hand and lowered his voice to a hushed growl.

“From what I’ve been told, the only way to fix the problem caused by PowerLink is to use the dimension cube to bring Yugi to the other plane. It’s my fault this happened in the first place, so it’s my responsibility to fix it, no matter what. Do you understand?”

Mokuba sighed.

“Can we start over? Can you tell me everything from the beginning, and don’t hold anything back because you think it’s crazy or because you think I can’t handle it. I’ve seen enough crazy stuff happen the past few years that I feel like nothing you say could surprise me,” Mokuba said, fighting back the sob that had lodged itself in his throat.

“And you suck at lying, so don’t lie.”

Kaiba sat back. To verbalize out loud the things he was dealing with was to acknowledge, finally, the para-natural phenomenon that had been coloring his life since the day he met Yugi Mutou. Even with all that he’d experienced first hand, it was a difficult pill to finally swallow.

Mokuba stared at him, daring, determined, open, expectant. The color was back in his tan cheeks, his head was held high. He was a strong kid, and soon he would be a strong man. For the first time in their relationship, Kaiba leaned into the comfort of his younger brother’s competency and support.

He told Mokuba everything, from the beginning. Told him about the visions he’d had in front of the stone slab and on the blimp. Told him things about the memory world he’d held back, about Kisara and the blue eyes, told him about the way his body vibrated when the door to the next life opened to take Atem away from them. Told him about Diva, about the horrific, impossible things he saw before the world went black around him. Told him about the rushed, intense conversation he’d had in the palace beyond when he crossed over with the dimension cube.

He told Mokuba about the dreams. About what it felt like to be connected to Yugi in that deeply intimate, viscously revealing way. About the battle and the flowers, about Mahad. About Atem.

He didn’t tell Mokuba about the trial. The words wouldn’t even queue up in his mouth.

Mokuba cocked his head.

“You talk to the Black Magician? What’s he like?”

Kaiba laughed.

“After everything I just told you, that’s what you want to know?”

“Can you talk to the Blue Eyes too?” Mokuba said, eyes wide. Kaiba hoped he’d never lose that boyish excitement about things.

“Mahad was a man once. He says he knew me.”

“In your past life?”

Kaiba scowled.

“To say it like that underlines how ridiculous this all is.”

“It’s not ridiculous, or you wouldn’t be flying a suicide mission into the great beyond to get your boyfriend the magic potion he needs to live,” Mokuba said, folding his hands behind his head.

“A suicide mission…” Kaiba drummed his long fingers on the table.

“We won’t fail. We can’t. I’ll make the final preparations on the prototype myself. I’ll leave the launch and recovery teams in your command.”

Mokuba studied his brother’s face, wine-flushed and clammy at the temples. Signs of stress. Signs of worry. But lucidity in the eyes, and the grade of determination that Mokuba knew better than to test.

“I know you're gonna do what you’re gonna do no matter what. And I’m behind you anyways, always. Just promise me one thing, okay?”

Kaiba nodded.

“Promise you’ll come back.”

“I have every intention of coming back.”

Mokuba extended his right pinky, gripping the locket around his neck with his left hand.

Kaiba lifted his own locket to his lips. They linked pinkies and kissed the lockets.

“Promise?”

“Promise.”

Mokuba relaxed.

“Okay. Good.”

They traded bites of their entrees, cassoulet and braised rabbit and riz noir, and polished off the Grand Cru with higher spirits. They went over the tournament matches and double-checked the flights and accommodations of the duelists and invited guests. Mokuba stepped out to make a call to his primary media contactto secure primetime coverage. If they were going to do this, they’d do it right.

When he returned, the sous chef had just brought them a cheese board. Mokuba sampled a crumble of cantal. Kaiba ignored the cheese board in favor of his café noisette, from which Mokuba determined he probably planned to be up most of the night working.

“So why the tournament? There’s so much to do to prepare for the launch. Why now?” Mokuba said.

Kaiba hummed against his cup.

“Why indeed. The next few days of training will be hard. I don’t want him discouraged before the launch, it’ll make it hard for us to pilot the launch pod if he’s scared or depressed. I thought it would bolster his spirits to have all his friends around.”

“You’re throwing a going-away party,” Mokuba said.

“If you want to call it that, yes.”

Mokuba grinned and pumped his fist.

“I’m glad you said so. Since it’s a party, I’m gonna make sure it fuckin rocks.”

Kaiba hid his smile behind his espresso cup, deciding just this once not to hassle Mokuba for cursing.

 

****

 

“Welcome, welcome,” Sugoroku said, stepping aside to let Kaiba through the front door of Kame Games.

“My grandson isn’t here right now,” he said, leading them through the back toward the stairwell to the house. “But you probably knew that already.”

“I did,” Kaiba said, gripping his briefcase.

“Well,” Sugoroku said, one foot on the stair. “Come up, I’ll put tea on.”

They walked up the narrow carpeted stairs, and Kaiba felt a pang of anxiety. He was a stranger in Yugi’s childhood home, visiting it for the first time without him.

“Have a seat, boy,” Sugoroku said, gesturing to the couch.

Kaiba sat on the little couch, taking in the games and artifacts that lined the shelves, the pictures and the human touches that gave the place a sweltering warmth, so unlike the wide halls of the manor. It reminded him of his first home, the first he could remember, and he closed his eyes against the feeling. He unlocked his briefcase and removed an envelope.

“Here,” Sugoroku said, handing Kaiba a steaming cup. He sat in an arm chair on the other side of the coffee table.

“Thank you.”

They blew on their tea for a few moments of comfortable silence. Finally, Sugoroku said,

“So? Let’s have it. You’re here on business?”

Kaiba cleared his throat.

“Yes and no. I feel I owe you an apology for the way I treated you when Yugi and I were in high school.”

Sugoroku laughed and waved Kaiba off.

“Please. Don’t think I don’t notice that you shut down any competition that crops up in this neighborhood. Zoning violations? Revoked business licenses? You’re creative, my boy, but you’re not subtle.”

“Subtlety was never my strong suit,” Kaiba said, smirking. “I am sorry, though.”

“I appreciate you saying it to my face, I do. But that was years ago. It seems to me you’re a different man now.”

“I’m not sure I believe that people change,” Kaiba said.

Sugoroku winked at him.

“Change is the wrong word. You’ve matured, grown up. You’re gentler now, more patient. Love will do that to a man, you know.”

Kaiba held Sugoroku’s eyes for a long while. Somehow, the intensity there reminded him of Atem. Kaiba felt himself slowly begin to melt under that scrutinizing but compassionate gaze.

Kaiba slid the envelope across the table.

“All the same, I’d like to give this to you.”

Sugoroku carefully opened the envelope and peered inside. He arched a brow.

“That’s quite an apology, son.”

Kaiba inclined his head.

“It can’t make amends for the loss of your Blue Eyes, but please consider it a token of my remorse.”

Sugoroku chuckled jerked his thumb at a frame on the wall. The torn Blue Eyes sat taped together in the frame.

“I’m not so easily separated from the things that are important to me. She didn’t much like when I dueled with her anyway,” he said, smiling. “But thank you, truly.”

Kaiba nodded and sipped his tea.

“So I hear you’re taking my grandson on an expedition. For an indefinite amount of time.”

“I have no way of accurately gauging how long it will take us to complete it.”

Sugoroku sipped his tea loudly and narrowed his eyes. Kaiba met his gaze with an even focus.

“Well, send the young king my regards. We all miss him dearly, you know.”

Kaiba flinched.

“How did you—”

“Don’t worry, my grandson didn’t tell me anything. It’s just, you get to be my age and you put things together quicker than you used to. Chalk it up to intuition, hm?”

“You have a remarkable intuition, Mr. Mutou.”

“Please, please, call me Sugoroku. Yugi is quite fond of you, you know. All his friends call me grandpa. You’re welcome to as well, of course,” Sugoroku said, setting down his tea. “As for me, it’s been hard not to call you Set since I recognized you in those TV replays of Battle City.”

Kaiba balked.

“What? You can’t possibly mean—”

Sugoroku laughed openly, slapping his knee.

“You don’t remember me, high priest? I’m the only one after the king you couldn’t best at dueling. I held your hair when you underwent the trial yourself. I was wondering if my grandson would have to endure it after all, and here you are with my answer.”

Sugoroku savored the look of animal confusion on his once fellow priest’s face.

“Come now, child, don’t look so surprised. It doesn’t suit you.”

Kaiba sighed rubbed the bridge of his nose.

“You remembered? You knew…you knew his name the whole time?”

Sugoroku fixed Kaiba with a knowing smile.

“Once my grandson finished the puzzle, it started coming back to me in stages.”

“From what I know, we all could have died if they failed. You would gamble our lives that easily?”

Sugoroku lifted his chin and smirked. It sent chills down Kaiba’s spine for how much it smacked of Atem.

“I’m the finest gambler you’ll ever meet. My intuition never fails.”

Sugoroku waved his hand dismissively.

“Yes, I could have told them, but it would have broken the magic. The important thing is that they figured it out for themselves. It had to unfold exactly the way that it did this time, or it wouldn’t have worked.”

Kaiba shrugged in acquiescence. Being talked to like a child by an aged version of his longtime rival was equal parts infuriating and bizarrely comforting.

“Order beats chaos in the end.” Sugoroku said, smiling. “You can bet on that, son.”

Kaiba steepled his fingers in front of his lips.

“This trial. You’ve seen what he’s about to go through. Will he be all right?”

Sugoroku crossed his arms. He thought about it for a moment before he answered.

“My grandson has a knack for surprising those who underestimate him. You should know as much.”

“First hand,” Kaiba said, crossing his legs.

“Have faith,” Sugoroku said. “It all happens for a reason. You discovering some way to cross to the other bank, and right at the time when he needs it. Yes, it feels like destiny to me.”

Kaiba used to hate the word destiny. He wasn’t sure he liked it just yet. But this time, maybe just this once, he didn’t resist its application to his affairs.

“So, since you’re here,” Sugoroku said with that familiar smirk. “Shall we play a game? I think you owe me a rematch.”

They took out their cards to duel.


	16. Chapter 16

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Every card he drew was a piece of the puzzle he was constructing move by move, and the picture was Kaiba. The shape and the form was Kaiba.

Mai looked at her freshly manicured nails. They were just the right shade of purple to match the stonework buttons of her custom DuelDisk. She considered the shape at length, wondering if she should have picked coffin over stiletto. It was too late now either way.

“Jounouchi! I’m leaving this spot in two minutes,” she shouted, folding the kickstand on her Suzuki GSX. She hiked up her leather skirt and mounted the bike.

When she’d received a package from a Kaiba Corporation courier, she wasn’t expecting an embossed invitation to a Battle City reunion exhibition, and she definitely wasn’t expecting a bespoke outfit, black leather corset, skirt and vest, complete with arm warmers and Italian leather thigh high boots. She was no stranger to gifts from admirers, but this read less as a gift and more as a costume—a thoughtful, expensive costume, one she’d definitely wear again, but a costume designed by a seventeen-year-old all the same. Mokuba had included a little handwritten card that said

It’s showtime, baby!

xoxoxoxo

-M

She was about to send the whole package back when she noticed the little pendant, a silver harpy’s claw gripping a brilliantly polished amethyst orb. Something about it softened her indignation, and she’d be lying to herself if she said the thought of having a second chance to be the Duel King didn’t appeal to her.

The thought of seeing Malik again gave her pause, but every time his bewitching violet eyes flashed in her mind’s eye, she thought of Mokuba’s emphatic, pleasantly messy handwriting: it was a play, just showtime, a chance to fight with no threat of annihilation, where all the smoke and the fire would be holographic and no one would bind her limbs, and she wouldn’t lose herself this time, even if she lost the match.

Mai could put on a show with her eyes closed. But today the fire in her chest called for something more. Despite herself she was jittery. A part of her was out for blood, eyes open and sharp like a hawk’s, scanning the street for motion as she waited for Jounouchi.

She caught the swing of the closing door out of the corner of her eye and her breath hitched and her focus snapped to the walkway.

Jounouchi was on one knee, tying his red converse sneakers. They styled him in cuffed Levi’s and a tight white t-shirt with the sleeves rolled up. He had a black leather motorcycle jacket slung over one arm, a braided leather wristband on his drawing hand and a silver cuban chain around his neck.

The tight shirt accentuated his muscular arms and chest, and the jeans hugged him like they’d been moulded to his body. The sight of him warmed the cold fire in her chest. Hair in his eyes, jaw set, she could almost feel his thoughts, determination and fear mixed in with a visceral excitement that put everything into sharper focus. When he stood, he tossed his head back and rolled his shoulders and gave her a wide grin, and she couldn’t help but sigh out some of her tension and mirror his good mood.

Jounouchi slid into the moto jacket, unzipping the right sleeve to accommodate his duel disk, and gave her an apologetic wave.

“Sorry, sorry! Let’s go yeah?”

“You’re lucky I like to make an entrance,” Mai said, tucking her hair into her helmet. She tossed Jounouchi the spare.

Jounouchi climbed onto the bike behind her and put his hands on her hips. Mai counted her teeth with the tip of her tongue to distract herself from the warmth and the pressure as his knees settled against her thighs.

He laced his fingers together over her exposed navel. She turned over the engine to mask the involuntary shudder it drew.

They roared through the narrow streets of Jounouchi’s neighborhood and down onto the highway. She found herself having to focus harder than normal on keeping their balance. His chin on her shoulder was intimate and distracting and when she missed the exit for the coliseum and she chided herself.

“Hey, what took you so long today,” she cried over her shoulder.

“I had to finish something. For Yugi. I’ve been an asshole lately,” he said.

“Why am I not surprised!”

Jounouchi’s good-natured laugh in reply made her hands tingle. He’d filled out the past two years, lost some of that baby fat that had her second guessing the heat in her belly that made her want to tease him more than all the other boys.

No, she could tell he wasn’t like them by the way he was gripping her waist, firm but sweet, not using the opportunity to grope her like other boys would. He wasn’t a boy anymore. He wasn’t like the middle aged men either who all longed to possess her. He was more self-assured, more confident, too simple and warm-hearted to try and impress her with gifts or flattery.

He’d bought her dinner the night before at a neighborhood noodle spot, and though she felt woefully overdressed in the cramped booth, their banter flowed easy and he’d even impressed her some with his ideas on strategy, suggesting edits to their decks to play to the warrior archetype they both favored these days.

Maybe she’d finally let him—

“Shit,” she said, the sound of it lost in the engine roar. She’d missed another exit daydreaming and now they were guaranteed to be late.

“Hold on,” she yelled over her shoulder as she hit the throttle and cut across three lanes of highway traffic, barely missing an eighteen wheeler, to catch a patch of dirt on the median she could use to pull an illegal U-turn.

Jounouchi clung hard, stunned by the sudden speed, and hoped against hope that she couldn’t feel his dick pressing up against her leather-clad ass. He was wound up from the night before, hyper sensitive to the smell of her hair and the surprising firmness of her thighs and the warm, soft skin of her belly where his hands rested.

They’d spent the night before eating and talking and preparing for their matches and he had wanted to kiss her but the moment never came. When he met her at the noodle spot for dinner he was struck by her beauty and the intelligence in her eyes and she teased him just a little less than she normally did and he wondered if he was even worthy enough to try. He felt worthy only at the very end of the night, when he’d beaten her soundly in a practice duel. She looked at him different when he won, something wicked and hungry coloring her warm blue eyes, but then she excused herself, leaving him the smell of her perfume to think about.

And he thought about it. He thought about it as he was pulling himself off in the shower, thought about how she patted the red paint off her lips with the noodlehouse napkin, each spoonful of food revealing more of the natural coral color of her lips.He wanted to see her completely bare, wanted to comb fistfulls of her wild golden curls with his fingers, wanted to see her face flushed with need and exertion and not rouge. He thought about the spectacular variation in her voice, from the shrill bark as she called her moves in battle to the high ringing laughter to the dark growl of anger. He came hard into his own hand when he thought of the rare times she’d said his name softly with fondness in her voice, and the echo of it stayed with him until he forced himself to sleep.

He wanted to smell the spice of her skin beneath the perfume, wanted to taste her right at the moment she came undone. That’s if he could even undo her, from the tight corset to the million eyelets on those back-laced thigh high boots.

Jounouchi had his work cut out for him, but there’s nothing he liked more than a challenge.

They leaned into the acceleration together, and Mai just barely kept herself from letting out a haughty bark of laughter. She could feel his arousal, but she could also feel the rhythmic, even press of his chest as he breathed. He was primed but in control. She smiled. Just the right attitude for a fight.

They pulled up to the entrance of Kaiba Coliseum right behind a red Ducati with two lean riders. The four of them cut their engines and dismounted and took off their helmets and shook their hair out, and when Mai met the bright violet eyes of the dark skinned youth in the gold jewelry her body tensed involuntarily.

Jounouchi put his arm around her and gave her shoulder a squeeze.

“It’s okay, we’re safe. No shadows around here,” he whispered.

She trembled a little as she exhaled.

“Plus,” Jounouchi said, winking, “we’re gonna wipe the floor with them this time.”

Bakura met Jounouchi’s eyes and they nodded a greeting.

“Yo, Bakura!”

“Jounouchi,” Bakura said, smiling. He smoothed down his wild white hair and tugged the sleeves of his new shirt over his hands to cover the scar there. Mokuba had sent a package to Bakura’s apartment with two invites and an impressive gift—for him and for Malik. When he’d first opened the package, panic seized his guts, pinching him with the idea that somehow everybody knew about them. He thought to himself, if they didn’t know now, they would know soon. Mokuba had sent them matching outfits, grey cargo pants and a black hooded crop top for Malik, a matching set of grey overalls and a long sleeved black hooded t-shirt for him, overlong in the arms with holes for his thumbs. The matching DuelDisks were over the top, even for the Kaibas, with Malik’s in gold and onyx his own in silver and moonstone.

That morning when Bakura had looked at himself in the mirror, he was shocked by the effect. With their hoods pulled up and his sleeves pulled down almost to the black-lacquered nails and Malik’s bare arms so stacked with gold that he made the sound of many muffled little bells as he walked, they had a mercenary charm. Lean and tall and faces shadowed under the hoods, Malik’s eyes glowing like a cat’s and his own dark and shark-empty, they looked every bit as lethal as they’d been in their regrettable pasts. Bakura wondered if they were being cast as the villains in Mokuba’s little play, but they looked so good together that he let it slide.

He’d been confused at the accessories that were nestled in with the headsets. A silver drop earring with an onyx stone for him, and a gold ring with a smooth inset moonstone for Malik, sized to fit the index of his drawing hand.

He’d touched the earring absently as they appraised one another in the mirror and said with concern on his brow ‘We look like a couple.’ Malik had grinned and grabbed his hand and kissed each knuckle with a smile and said ‘I know.’

The weight of the spectacle they were about to partake in hit Bakura in a wave, bowling him back and then sucking him forward as it receded, in toward the looming coliseum.

Malik walked up to Mai, intending to offer his hand, but Mai’s shoulders hitched up and he kept his distance.

“Hello, Mai.”

“Malik,” she said, composing herself. “I got your letter.”

“Oh,” he said, slipping his hands in his pockets. “I mean it, what I said.”

“I know you do. Thank you,” she said. She smiled at him with her lips only and he felt a pang of remorse.

“I’m all right. We were different then,” she said, closing the distance between them to place a hand on his shoulder.

“I’ll say,” he said.

They smiled at one another and the both of them relaxed some.

“We’re up first, hm?” Bakura said, stretching his drawing arm over his chest.

“Yup,” Jounouchi said. He cracked his knuckles and shot Malik a predatory grin. 

“This is a show match, but my pride is still on the line.”

Malik hummed and crossed his arms. Bakura smiled an icy, sharp-eyed smile.

“I wouldn’t expect anything less than your best,” Bakura said.

“Come on, boys,” Mai said. “It’s almost time.”

 

****

 

Isis Ishtar tossed her long black hair over her shoulder, reveling in the soft brush of it against her spine. The clothes the Kaiba brothers had sent her were a close enough approximation of her old linen shift, but lower cut, closer cut, whether by design or by accident she didn’t know. She’d been given a long cream colored keffiyeh embroidered in gold and lapis blue, and as she wrapped it around her head and shoulders she marveled at the way it brought out the blue in her eyes. She slipped on her ancestral gold and then slipped on the delicate gold choker that had come with her blue and gold duel disk. She patted some lip gloss on her full lips and swept the kohl powder from the corners of her eyes. Satisfied, she slipped her deck into the slot on the DuelDisk. The answering chime raised the hairs on the back of her neck.

Rishid stood in the hallway that lead to the viewing box. His placid green eyes were betrayed by his twitching fingers, which he drummed against his thigh.

Isis took him in. In dark denim and a black blazer over a maroon t shirt, he looked as different as she looked the same. When they’d decided as a family to move beyond the Tombkeepers’ ways, Malik had helped him shave off his ponytail. Now his hair was thick and glossy and hung in waves down to his chin, half obscuring the scarified hieroglyphs on his face. She caught a flash of gold at his ear, an elaborate cuff that played off the rich warmth of his skin.

“Rishid! It’s been months,” she said as she approached him.

She caught the scent of sandalwood when she leaned in to kiss him on the cheek in greeting and it made her pleasantly dizzy.

“This isn’t how I expected we would reunite, the three of us,” he said, flashing her a rare but brilliant smile. “Still, I’m glad.”

In that moment she came to the startling realization that the man whom she’d considered her brother and protector and a source of stability for her whole life was appealing to her long-neglected physicality, and she hastily shoved the thought to the back of her mind.

“I got the proof in Arabic for your next book,” she said, pushing aside her keffiyeh so she could look at him as they walked side-by-side. “Very moving. What a magnificent subject you’ve created. The ecstatic color I expected, but the rawness in this volume came as a pleasant surprise.”

He looked at her opaquely and it made her itch all over, made her wish she had the tauk again.

“I’m surprised you’re surprised,” he said. “They’re very plainly about you.”

Isis had no time to process, for as soon as Rishid had spoken, they were at the threshold of their booth in the east tower. The automatic doors slid open and the roar of the crowd in the coliseum drowned out her thoughts, and for that she was grateful.

Isis was unaccustomed to crowds. All those years spent underground alone had shaped her into a private, quiet person. She gazed down onto the duel field where Kaiba was embellishing his opening speech with wide sweeps of arms and well timed flourishes of the tails of his long white coat. She followed every curl of his fingers, leaning on his magnetism to help her drown out the shouts of the crowd and the lights and the music.

Her eyes flicked up to the tower opposite their own and for a moment she was sure the world had cracked and let the pharaoh through again.

Yugi Mutou leaned on the banister of the west tower, gazing down at Kaiba on the field. He was taller than she remembered, more developed. He was draped over the banister with his chin resting on his fist, a soft smile on his lips. Too soft to be the pharaoh, though the eyes were keen and focused and lined with kohl and she second guessed herself more than once. But then he met her gaze and gave a wide smile and an open-handed wave and she knew it was the sacred vessel after all.

“He’s come into his own,” Rishid said at her side.

“We won’t have an easy time with them,” she said, absently touching her neck where the tauk used to sit.

“We were never meant to beat them anyway,” Rishid said with a smile.

The stadium lights cut out and they leaned over the banister themselves and gazed down at the field where Kaiba had disappeared into a cloud of smoke. Out of the smoke and the hush of the stands two platforms rose, and she recognized her brother’s hazy silhouette at once. He was standing shoulder to shoulder with the thief’s vessel, both of them hooded and smiling darkly. The platform opposite them rose into a spotlight and she laughed at the picture painted by the two blondes, looking like they’d been ripped from those romantic American biker movies Malik liked so much.

Looking at both teams, it was easy to see who was cast as the villain. It hurt her to imagine her brother taking up that role again, even if it was for show. But she searched his face and found no trace of the pain he’d harbored for years: he looked relaxed and happy and he gripped the thief’s vessel’s hand and they traded coy smiles as the lifepoint meters flashed 8,000.

Their match was fast and vicious, an exercise in brute force versus strategy, with team Jounouchi calling out one heavy hitting monster after the other. Team Bakura countered well enough with Malik’s formidable wall of defense, allowing Bakura to lay and execute a network of traps. In the end Mai’s Harpy’s Pet Baby Dragon equipped with the effects of time magic swept the last of her brother’s lifepoints and Malik and Bakura both threw off their hoods and shouted some prewritten lines about rematches and revenge but when the platforms descended into the fog once again, she caught them laughing and holding hands and leaning in very close for dueling partners.

Rishid caught her biting her lip and he placed a hand on her shoulder.

“He’s happier than he’s ever been,” he said.

“I know,” she said, covering Rishid’s hand with her own. “I just wish he would tell me what’s going on in his life. I feel like a stranger to him lately.”

“He takes his time with opening up,” Rishid said. “He always has. He’ll come around.”

She turned the thought over in her head. The thief’s vessel was quiet and kind but she recognized the depth and the darkness in his eyes, the secretive sense of knowing, the distance from the lightness and ease of everyday life. He would either be Malik’s downfall or his salvation.

Kaiba caught her eyes from the facing tower where he stood by Yugi. He tapped his wrist—it was time.

“Let’s go,” she said, and stepped into the booth’s elevator with Rishid.

They mounted their platform and it slowly rose through the fog. She felt the weight of the cheers and the million eyes at the base of her skull, a headache threatening to bloom and she took a deep breath against it. She flinched when she felt the warmth of Rishid’s hand at the small of her back, but when she looked at him his face was so resolute that it stilled something deep inside her.

“This is a game,” he said. “No one’s destiny hangs on it. We should have fun.”

At that moment the crowd exploded in riotous cheers, and she realized it was because team Mutou had ascended through the fog.

They were standing shoulder-to-shoulder, wide-stanced and arms crossed. Yugi looked shockingly like the pharaoh in head to toe black, tight black vest and black ringed harness and black belts stacked and black bracelets and black studs on his boots. The glowing red stones of his DuelDisk highlighted the red undertones of his wild dark hair. Kaiba beside him practically glowed, his usual boots and coat and gauntlets all remade in stark, glossy white.

“We’ve passed many moons in the shadows waiting for this time,” Rishid shouted.

“You want another beating that badly?” Kaiba said down the bridge of his nose.

Isis caught herself—she hoped she remembered her choreography.

“Kaiba, you defied destiny once. But now I will avenge my family’s name,” she said, tugging the corner of her keffiyeh so that it came unraveled around her shoulders. A well timed gust of fake wind blew it out of her hands, and her long black hair fanned out behind her.

“Do you really think you can defeat me after seeing the extent of my power?” Kaiba said.

Yugi tucked his chin and glared, and when Isis hardened her eyes in response, he winked at her. She had to bite the inside of her cheek to keep from smiling.

“Let’s let the cards decide who’s worthy,” he said.

“Duel!” Rishid and Kaiba shouted in unison.

The turns passed quickly and before she knew it, Isis was enjoying herself. Her deck was an old friend she didn’t realize she’d missed. It felt good to fall into the rhythm of dueling, and with Rishid at her side it felt like a four-way dance. Kaiba moved like a fan dancer, wrists curled and arms wide and broadly sweeping, and Yugi wove around him like a sash, playing off his traps, laying sacrifices for his monsters, diffusing every strategy before she or Rishid could complete them. She found herself leading Rishid, relying on his intuition to back her moves, surging forward at the breaking wave of power that was team Mutou’s monster lineup.

When they finally lost, Isis was flushed and giddy and she could feel her own heartbeat pulsing against the thin chain of the choker she wore.

“That was a good game,” Yugi said.

“Thank you,” Rishid said with a bow of his head.

Malik was there to meet her when their platform descended to the corridor. He met her with a kiss on each cheek, then pulled her, stunned, into a hug.

“It’s been too long,” he said into her shoulder.

She placed a hand on the back of his head.

“Kaiba keeps you busy doesn’t he.”

They parted and Rishid stepped in, and Malik grabbed his forearm and they clapped one another on the bicep, and Malik made a small gesture with his finger against Rishid’s wrist as they parted. Rishid nodded as he grabbed Malik in a hug.

“It’s good to see you, brother,” he said.

Malik relaxed into the hug and hummed in agreement.

“Hello there,” said a voice from behind them.

The three of them turned toward Bakura, who stood smiling gently with his hands clasped in front of him.

“Thank you for the book, Rishid. It was lovely.”

“Ryou,” Rishid said, placing his large hand on Bakura’s shoulder. “My pleasure. I’m glad you liked it.”

Isis smiled at the thief’s vessel and he gave her a polite bow.

“If you’re going to come to Egypt with me to meet the others,” Malik said with a smile, “you should learn the customary greetings.”

Rishid offered his arm to Bakura.

“Grab here, one shake,” Malik said, taking Bakura’s opposite hand. “Now tap here.”

“Welcome to the family,” Rishid said as he squeezed Bakura’s arm.

Isis bit her lip.

“Malik, you—”

She saw the intensity in her brother’s face and she checked herself. She had her objections to this…friendship, but she weighed the dubiousness of the history she’d been taught against her brother’s happiness and decided that it didn’t matter. They were new people, this was their chance at a real life.

“You’ve put on weight. Thank the gods, I was getting so worried about you.”

Bakura and Malik traded relieved smiles.

“Let’s head up to the tower,” Rishid said. “I’d like to watch the duel.”

By the time they got up it was clear that Yugi was pacing the match, with Kaiba laying out support cards, smug smile on his face. Mai and Jounouchi were building up power, but Yugi diffused their attempts to attack turn after turn. Yugi had gathered sacrifices and when his turn came he looked over at Kaiba and cocked his head, and Kaiba crossed his arms and gave a little laugh through his nose.

“I offer these sacrifices,” Yugi said, selecting Gold Gadget, Black Magician Girl and Silent Swordsman Level 4.

“To activate the ritual Chaos Form,” Kaiba continued.

“Come forth, Blue Eyes Chaos Max Dragon,” they said together.

“I have a strange sense of deja vu. There was a story,” Rishid said. “A fierce battle against Hittite cavalry. They had a trebuchet and Greek fire. But the king and his high priest summoned the dark ritual magic together, and the whole army was vanquished by a single dragon.”

“Is that unusual,” Bakura said. “Two people summoning one ritual monster?”

“It was,” Isis said. “Ritual magic demands personal sacrifice. It isn’t supposed to work if another person gives of themself in your place.”

The Blue Eyes Chaos Max Dragon that swept the field and team Jounouchi’s lifepoints glowed red where it should have glowed blue, and the crowd erupted into shouts and cheers.

“Weird. I wonder if that’s a special edition variant,” Malik said.

“Something like that, I think,” Bakura said with a frown.

 

***

 

Yugi’s breath came ragged and his fingers buzzed. He was completely rapt, senses at their height. He felt every trickle of sweat, every shifting strand of hair as he turned on his platform to face Kaiba directly.

He knew in some distant part of his mind that Mokuba had mounted the central platform, that he was stirring the crowd to frenzy with that bred-in instinct for rhetoric, for the dance-like gestures that made good use of the lean frame, the long limbs he was rapidly growing into. Tense and hushed, the enormity of the final, deciding clash between the king of games and the de facto king of Domino city itself descended on them.

For all of the thousands of people and the glare of the lights and the smoke and the roar, the only thing that mattered was Kaiba.

Kaiba looked at him as though to say, don’t hold back, don’t you dare hold back.

He held back nothing. It came in fits and rushes and with it came a mounting tightness in his gut, in between his eyes. Every card he drew was one piece of the puzzle he was constructing move by move, and the picture was Kaiba, the shape and the form was Kaiba, with his arm out and the fingers splayed, Kaiba with the shining blue eyes surging at him like a tsunami, like the sea itself, Kaiba like the pale arctic moon looming, shining bright and white on Yugi’s cheeks and eyelids, shining over his lips and his open palms.

It was Kaiba on one knee, fist braced against the ground, dripping sweat onto the platform as his lifepoints reached zero.

It was Kaiba looking up at him from that posture of surrender with smiling lips, with awe in the eyes, with hunger, with love, bowing his head again, not in submission but in the binding oath of loyalty, and Yugi felt it, felt Kaiba’s full regard, felt he’d taken Kaiba completely, finally, to the full depth of his heart.

But then Kaiba looked up again and the image fractured into chaos, and terror crossed the blue eyes and suddenly Kaiba was punching a button on the platform floor and they were being swept down and away from the crowd and the lights where Mokuba was again at the podium, but with a metallic bite in his voice as he gave the closing speech.

Yugi was dazed and clammy and proud and he thought of Atem, wished Atem could have seen him, could have seen them fighting with such spirit.

When he collapsed into Kaiba’s arms he thought for a moment he saw the both of them peering down at him, wine-warmed violet and lapis blue, and he was happy to finally have them there with him as he sunk comfortably into quiet and darkness.

Kaiba’s limbs iced over with abject fear, and only his long-practiced self-control kept his voice from cracking as he patted helplessly at the blood flowing from Yugi’s nose with his bare hands and said,

“Get the medic. Go. And my chief engineer, tell—tell him that the launch date has been moved up. Two days, we. We have to leave tomorrow.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Been a long few weeks but I finally got back into the swing. I expect to post pretty regularly for a bit. I always love your comments! Thanks again for reading.


	17. Chapter 17

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Tell me, Orpheus,” Malik said, pulling out another cigarette. “You sure you’re doing the right thing?”

Mokuba counted down the seconds in his mind, giving voice to Isono’s fingercounts from the prompter box. At three, two, one, he ducked behind the podium and activated the emergency exit trap, which dropped him five feet down a narrow chute where he could crouch and slip through a round portal to the shaft in which hydraulic lifts of the duel platforms docked when not in use.

He glanced up at the flickering projection of his own feet. There was a smiling face stamped into the heel of his left shoe, a little easter egg for him put there by his brother. It filled some of the hollow feeling inside of him.

A short climb down the chute and he crawled through the serviceway to the waiting area, and Isono’s sharp heel clicks were already echoing down the hallway.

“All good up top?” he called.

Isono stepped into the waiting area.

“Flawless exchange, Mokuba-sama.”

Mokuba tugged on his tie and dug his smart phone from the pocket of his trousers.

“Let’s default to protocol three, I’ll confirm with you once I see how they’re doing. What happened?”

Isono walked Mokuba back down the hall toward an elevator bay.

“Mr. Mutou collapsed after the duel. They’re in the med station now.”

Mokuba grit his teeth.

“Was the PowerLink system engaged?”

“No, Mokuba-sama. It was Solid Vision only, as per the instructions.”

Mokuba swiped through the messages on his phone and groaned.

“The launch date—this is gonna be impossible. I have to make some calls, Isono, can you check on Yugi for me?”

“Of course.”

Isono left Mokuba at the elevator with a nod of his head.

The younger Kaiba’s brow was creased with some age-inappropriate cocktail of worry and focus and it made Isono want to take the phone out of his hand. It made him want a cigarette. Isono took inventory of himself, reigning in the strange collection of feelings that the Kaiba brothers, particularly Mokuba, provoked in him. He wanted to smooth that tousled hair down and put on a movie and make sure Mokuba ate.

He walked briskly to the med station instead.

What he saw when he got there made him sweat. Mutou looked all right, if a little pale, sitting up and drinking an electrolyte supplement, monitoring devices fixed round his arm and at his temples. He was smiling and batting away Seto’s attempts to fuss.

It was Seto, blanched white and fingers trembling, that piqued Isono’s concern.

“Seto-sama, Mokuba-sama is attending to some last minute schedule changes. He suggested protocol three.”

Isono watched the broad shoulders pinch and rise together toward the last clinging evidence of boyhood, the still-large ears. Then he saw something he would never forget.

The reigning king of games broke into an easy smile and laid his palm on the back of Seto’s arm. And just like that, the tension flowed out from every heightened peak, the lips softened, the eyes melted.

“Does protocol three have ice cream?” Yugi said, amused, scratching at a little bit of dried blood that clung to his chin.

“Yugi!”

“Because I am, like, so hungry right now.”

Isono swallowed a smile. He was a disciplined man.

Seto sighed, something between exasperated and resigned. He checked the readouts on each monitor. He shined a flashlight into Yugi’s reluctantly open eyes, one and then the other.

“I’m fine, I’m fine. I promise,” Yugi said.

Seto looked at him a long time.

“Proceed with protocol three.”

Isono gave a curt bow.

“I’ll prepare the car, Seto-sama.”

 

***

 

In the murmuring and the milling as they waited in the private causeway at Kaiba Coliseum, Kujaku Mai’s shrill voice cut like a knife.

“Oh come the hell on!”

Her’s was the first, but not the loudest reaction to the XL stretch Hummer that had been modified to look like a Blue Eyes White Dragon.

“Your carriage, my lady,” Mokuba said, opening the rear door with one hand. The other he stretched toward Mai, and she took it with an amused sigh. Jounouchi mussed Mokuba’s hair as he ducked inside. Rishid helped Isis fold herself into the seat, restricted as she was by the tight hug of the dress around her hips and knees. Malik snuck a discrete pat on Bakura’s flank when he bowed into the limo and then slipped in himself.

Mokuba glanced back at the Coliseum and saw his brother’s distinctive figure through the frosted glass. He got in the limo and shooed Jounouchi over to make room.

Mokuba took a deep breath. He was ready to run interference on any signs of trouble. He didn’t want his friends to know that Yugi wasn’t well.

Yugi’s bright laughter from down the causeway cut his worry. He watched the two of them bicker quietly as they walked toward the limo, saw the tired but affectionate look on his brother’s face and he heaved a sigh of relief.

Yugi bounded into the limo with a wide grin, Kaiba close behind him like an elongated shadow.

“Yugi!” Jounouchi said. “That was fuckin awesome. Cut him right down. You’re my hero!”

“I’m right here, you know,” Kaiba said, more amused than angry.

“Everyone played beautifully,” Yugi said. “Really.”

“That speech was incredibly moving,” Isis said, smiling warmly at him. “I had no idea you had such a way with words.”

Kaiba smirked and crossed his legs. Yugi looked from him to Isis and then back again.

“You people are too much,” Mai said, wrinkling her nose. “I mean, really, a coronation?”

Yugi cocked his head. He looked at Mokuba, who crossed his legs and smirked, a perfect mirror of his brother.

“I gotta say though, it’s a hell of a classy move, Kaiba,” Jounouchi said. “Putting the crown on his head yourself. Never thought I’d see you kneel, but then again I never really thought you and me would hang out, and here we are.”

“Speech?” Yugi squeaked, looking up at Kaiba. “Crown?”

Mokuba met his brother’s eyes and stuffed down his barely contained laughter.

Kaiba cleared his throat.

“When we were busy, I may have engaged a pre-programmed scenario involving solid vision and a modified AI I programmed for an older project. It wouldn’t look good if you disappeared after our duel, not with all of those people watching.” 

Yugi’s eyes went wide.

“Oh my god, I have so see this. I made a speech?”

“I have a video on my phone,” Bakura said, holding his phone out to Yugi.

“Hey! You know that recording events is against the rules!” Mokuba chirped as he snatched Bakura’s phone.

Mai grinned and drummed her manicured nails against the wrist hold of her DuelDisk. She angled her piercing blue eyes at Yugi.

“So what could suddenly be more important than this dog and pony show of a tournament, your majesty?”

Kaiba blanched. He met Mokuba’s eyes, and Mokuba sat up to speak.

“Oh, well,” Yugi said, mischief in his eyes. He placed his open hand on Kaiba’s thigh. “I signed an NDA, so I’m afraid I can’t say.”

A hush went over the limo. Yugi was smiling, but it didn’t reach the sudden intensity in his eyes. He looked pointedly at Jounouchi.

“That information is for top level clearance holders only, not peons like you,” Kaiba said. Ever the showman, he draped his arm over Yugi’s shoulder and swept his eyes over the faces before him, daring them to say something.

He was still in fighting spirit from the duels and his restraint had been all but stripped by Yugi’s episode, and a part of him would relish a proper take down. The rest of him was too overwrought to care what anyone thought anymore.

For three tense seconds no one said anything. Then, shoulders shaking from the force of it, Mai practically shrieked with laughter.

“Hey, driver,” Mai said. “What’s your clearance level?”

“His name is Isono,” Bakura provided with a helpful smile.

“There’s only one person cleared for full access,” Kaiba said archly.

“Top level,” Yugi said. “Very exclusive.”

“Okay, gross, we get it,” Mokuba said, hiding his face in his hands.

“This is unexpected,” Rishid mumbled, suddenly rather interested in his own shoes.

“It’s really not,” Malik said as he rolled his eyes.

There was giggling and mumbling in reply.

Jounouchi caught Yugi’s eyes, hoping he could transmit some of his remorse. Whatever did cut through the bustling in the packed limousine was enough, and Yugi nodded as they traded real smiles, full of fraternal warmth.

“I swear to god,” Mai said, huffing, “if this whole tournament was elaborate foreplay for you lovebirds, I don’t care how expensive these boots were, I will never answer a KC tournament invite ever again.”

Mokuba groaned. Kaiba let out a rich, vaguely unhinged laugh.

“Don’t be ridiculous. If that were the case, I would have chosen a more private setting.”

“Considering it’s you, I wonder,” Bakura mumbled.

“Okay, okay, everybody,” Yugi said, holding his hands up. “I may as well come out and say it. This is all for me.”

That quieted everyone down.

“I,” Yugi said, looking up at Kaiba. Kaiba shrugged as if to say ‘do as you will.’

“I mean, we’re going away for a while.”

He looked down at his own lightly trembling hands, folded in his lap.

“We’re taking a trip. Somewhere special, to do some work. An important trip.”

He looked up from his hands to the group of friends and brothers-in-arms who had stood with him in his quest for the pharaoh’s final freedom. Their alert, friendly faces erased the lingering traces of pain in his head.

“I’m not sure when we’ll be back. It could be a long time. So we had this idea that we could see everyone, you know? All together again.”

A new kind of quiet settled over each and every one of them.

“Oh, honey,” Mai said, voice soft and sweet for a change. “You could have just said so.”

Rishid weighed his words, and finally said:

“No. No, I’m not sure if it would have drawn us all to the same physical place. And clearly, it was important to you that we were all here. I’m honored.”

“So am I,” Bakura said, nodding.

“Of course it’s important to me,” Yugi said. “You’re my friends.”

“Even after everything we put you through,” Bakura said.

“It’s astounding,” Malik said quietly. “I hope I can grow to be as forgiving as you one day.”

“We all owe you a great debt. You and the pharaoh had such a profound effect on each and every one of us,” Isis said.

The mention of the pharaoh sent a hush over the cabin of the limo. Kaiba let out a long shuddering exhale.

“We don’t deserve you, man.” Jounouchi said at last, eyes suspiciously glassy as the lights of Domino gently streaked his face red and blue through the tinted window of the limousine. “We love you. I love you.”

“Good luck, wherever you’re going,” Mai said. “Don’t be away too long.”

“Guys,” Yugi said. He felt hot, suddenly clammy, overwhelmed by the genuine sentiment in their warm glances. He swayed a little and flopped back against the seat, against Kaiba’s outstretched arm. Kaiba cupped his shoulder and the pressure steadied him.

“Guys, I—” Yugi murmured, quieting as the limo lurched to a halt.

“Seto-sama,” said Isono from across the partition. “We’re here.”

 

***

 

Malik leaned back against the wall of the balcony that looked out over the central gardens at Kaiba manor. It was cool and dark and fragrant and from the shaded balcony he could look in on the gold-lit great hall and all its inhabitants with impunity. Looking into the warmth and the movement from his quiet place in the shadows, he felt at home.

He watched with a gentle affection as Ryou took Mazaki Anzu’s new American boyfriend by the arm and showed him this and that and plied him with food and kept him apprised of the conversations that were happening in rapid, alcohol-slushed Japanese. Ryou’s English was the most polished after Kaiba’s, just about on par with Anzu’s.

If he wanted to, Malik could have called upon his semi-conscious knowledge of English too. It was one of the many languages he’d absorbed as he took possession of mind after mind with the rod. Doing so made his head hurt, and he was feeling antisocial besides, so he left it to Ryou.

He took a silver cigarette case from his back pocket and flicked it open. He dragged one long brown finger over the little line of hand-rolled cigarettes and popped out the one on the end, slipping it between his full lips.

He glanced in at the happy little party and saw that Ryou was duly engaged, translating what looked like an animated conversation between Honda and Otogi and the boy named Drew, whose name none of them could really pronounce. He lit the cigarette and took a long, hungry inhale.

“You know those things are poison, right?”

Malik’s violet eyes snapped to the other corner of the balcony, but the rest of him stayed still.

“It takes a lot to sneak up on me,” he said.

“I have the homefield advantage,” Kaiba said as he stepped into the half-light bleeding through the open French doors.

“My only vice nowadays,” Malik said, lifting the cigarette to his lips. “I see you like your poison in a glass.”

Kaiba laughed and tipped his neat whiskey in Malik’s direction.

They stood in companionable silence through half of Malik’s cigarette.

“It’s good work, what you’re doing,” Kaiba said between sips. “Important work.”

“I appreciate that coming from you,” Malik said, looking Kaiba up and down. “You look tired.”

Kaiba looked at him sidelong.

“If we’re gone a long time, Mokuba will cede that subdivision of the philanthropy department to you. It will remain a Kaiba Corp subsidiary, but you’ll be the major shareholder.”

Malik took a thoughtful drag of his cigarette.

“You don’t plan to come back from wherever it is you’re going.”

Kaiba drained his whiskey.

“These days I find it difficult to plan for more than what’s right in front of me.”

Malik snuffed out the butt of the cigarette against the bottom of his shoe.

They watched the din of the party from their perch on the darkened balcony for a long while.

Isis was chatting amicably with Mai, the two toasting teacup to champagne glass over something that made them laugh and shake their heads. Rishid was reading from his book of poems, in Arabic from the shape of his lips, Ryou translating for the small crowd to the best of his ability between alternating stanzas. Jounouchi was hovering near the bar, eyes intermittently darting over to the table where Mokuba was entertaining Shizuka with an animated story.

And then there was Yugi, slouching against a high-backed chair in a far corner. Anzu was sitting across from him, leaning in, hands fidgeting in her lap. They were talking close and trading damp, conciliatory smiles.

“Tell me, Orpheus,” Malik said as he pulled out another cigarette. “You sure you’re doing the right thing?”

Kaiba pushed himself up and took a step in toward the light.

“I have no doubts.”

They held one anothers’ gaze.

“Good luck then,” Malik said with a nod. “I’ll send up a prayer for you.”

Malik flicked the flame alive from his gold engraved zippo and watched through the billowing smoke Kaiba’s outsized form pass fully into the warmth of the great hall.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just went through my manuscript and wooh are there errors. I plan to go back through the chapters and fix them, it may just take me some time.
> 
> I definitely need a beta reader, if anyone is interested! 
> 
> Thanks again for reading <3 it makes me  
> so happy to know you’re following this adventure with me.


	18. Chapter 18

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “I’m glad you’re alive. I thought I’d killed us.”  
> Yugi smiled.  
> “Maybe you did and we’re in heaven now.”

Yugi groaned, turning stiffly in thick but ebbing half-sleep. His head was throbbing, his skin felt hot and prickly and raw all over. He slid his arm underneath his chest to brace himself up, and his fingers met the resistance of rough, wiry fur. He blinked the sleep from his dry, burning eyes and tried to apprehend his surroundings.

“Shh, shh, lay back, my dear,” came a distantly familiar voice.

There was the warmth of a hand on his shoulder and at the back of his head, and he felt himself being lowered back down onto the animal pelt that covered his bed.

“Where am I?” he croaked, voice sore and cracking in the dry air.

A pair of clear blue eyes set in a warmly smiling olive-brown face appeared in his fogged vision. Long black braids swept down from behind the gold-laden ears and brushed Yugi’s pain-sensitized arms.

“Sleep now, my child. Questions later.”

The figure covered Yugi with a woven blanket and mopped the grit and sweat from his brow with a soft, damp cloth. He fell back into a dreamless sleep.

 

****

 

Fatima stoked the fire in her hearth with a little paper fan and a long iron prod. She teased a little troupe of dancing flames from the embers and stood up to appreciate the warmth and the glow.

It was deep night, the peak of darkness, and it brought a chill through the open windows of her home. She gazed at the too-still form of the sleepless boy before her and, deciding it wasn’t too soon for coffee after all, and she set about making a pot.

“You should take your rest, my son,” she said as she ground down the beans on her grinding stone.

“I don’t sleep when there’s work to be done,” the boy said.

“You can’t do your seeking in the dark,” she said. “Daylight is another two or three hours away yet.”

The boy didn’t answer. He just stared out through the doorway to the room beyond.

“When he’s well again, I’ll send you right to the king,” Fatima said, dropping palmfulls of sugar into her copper ibrik. “Nadir and Ahlem will take you there, they know the way as well as anyone.”

The gloomy boy hummed his reply, but made no move to look at her. She smiled. So willful, so full of dark fire. He reminded her so much of her only son that it almost pained her to speak with him. She wanted to embrace this boy, gather up all his long limbs and cradle him until his stubbornness gave way to the ache she could read in his eyes.

She was high-born here and her service to the king had earned her a little looking-glass, a mirror into which she could look and see her beloved son. She had watched him enough nights as he lay sleepless, gazing up at the ceiling, to memorize the color that the sting of loneliness brought to the eyes.

She knew exactly how the ache to be held shaped the countenance of motherless boys into something tight and intense, something desperately private that screamed all the same to be known, something that drew others in with the same force that it pushed them away.

This boy sitting at her table exuded just such recursive gravity, so strong that it was a marvel he hadn’t imploded yet. His eyes bore the arctic loneliness that belied the molten core beneath. It was her son through-and-through, or so she imagined from the things she’d seen through her looking-glass.

The dark transit of death had taken her seconds before they could press him to her breast. She never even got to hold him.

She knew a time would come when she would meet him at last, at the end of his natural life; she also knew it was the fever-struck little vessel that slept on her leopard pelt in the room beyond she had to thank for that. They were even her son’s age to the year. She was thoroughly determined to sure them up, to rest and care for them before she sent them on their way.

She took her copper ibrik from the grate above the flames and poured the thick dark liquid into two cups. She took up a seat opposite the tall and lonely boy and slid the cup into his limp hands.

“Drink,” she said, patting his fingers closed around the cup.

She watched and waited until he took a sip from the cup, smiling at the sudden light in his eyes. He quickly drained the cup and set it down. She poured him another from the still-steaming ibrik and took a sip of her own.

“I’ll prepare you some supplies. It’s two day’s ride from here, straight east between the mountains. He should be well enough to ride in a day or two.”

The boy looked her up and down. Finally, he met her eyes.

“Why are you helping us?”

In her wisdom, she recognized the source of his suspicion as a lifetime of betrayal, and she took no offense to his harsh tone.

“I know you,” she said, brushing back her many braids. “I know you both. You’re a friend to my children, and so is he.”

He scanned her face for a few intense seconds, tracing the shape of the lips, the angle of the blue almond-shaped eyes, the tall, elegant posture. He imagined a golden eye at her throat, imagined the rows of braids as flowing black strands and his lips parted around an inaudible ‘oh.’

“God, she looks just like you,” he said.

Fatima smiled.

“So I’ve been told. My son is the spitting image of my late husband in his youth,” she said.

“And where is your husband now?” the boy said with a cool detachment.

“What the shadows take, the shadows keep,” was all she said.

Fatima thought of the darkness that had colored her life from the time she swore her fidelity to the captain of the tomb guardians. Indeed, even here there were shadows in the deepest corners, and these boys, these frail and foreign boys who didn’t belong here yet, were sure to draw them out.

She went to the hearth and gathered up a basket that sat to the side on a low wooden stool. She took two long leather sheaths from the basket and wrapped them gently in a light woolen blanket.

“My children. These are for them, when they return to me,” she said, laying the bundle down next to the boy.

“But right now, you need them. I pray they protect you on your way.”

 

****

 

Yugi woke with a start, subsumed with panic, hands out in front of him to brace them from impact. His own strangled yell parted the terror creeping through him, and he blinked the room around him into focus.

Last thing he remembered, he was sitting back in the tiny cockpit of the launch capsule, sitting between Seto’s bent knees, seeing the controls and the monitors through Seto’s bleary eyes, watching Seto’s hands operate the dials and the holofields and the switches as they sped down the tract that connected Kaiba’s personal low earth orbit laboratory with the projected landing site. They were due to “land” at a space fifty miles outside Giza said to have a lower threshold for dimensional perforation—Yugi didn’t bother to ask why.

It had been almost two days of grueling preparation and jet travel to Egypt, then a harrowing five hour ascent to dock with the orbiting laboratory, where the prototype waited.

He remembered the rush of the sync, the excitement and the fear and the deep remorse coming from a clouded place Yugi couldn’t touch. He remembered the feeling of leaning back in the cramped cockpit, his aching head against Kaiba’s fear-tight stomach, feeling reciprocal heat and a spark through his limbs that was part their tight press and part a shared and fraught excitement at the prospect of seeing, of touching Atem.

Soon they would be with Atem, and whatever task awaited them would shrink before them because he would be there, he would be with them.

He remembered Mokuba’s worry-cracked voice saying something that Yugi couldn’t understand but that chilled Seto to the bone, Mokuba’s face a twisted grimace that filled the display before them as red warning messages flashed on every screen. He remembered shutting his eyes against the pressure and the sound and the painful rattle of the launch pod as they approached and exceeded ascension velocity, only to skid and sputter off the tract with a hydraulic whine and the ear-splitting snap of carbon steel.

He knew because he could see through Seto’s eyes through the sync that they were headed straight down toward a rocky mountain range at the equivalent of orbital escape velocity. He remembered gripping at the pendant around his neck with one hand, the other shooting out in front to brace them for impact. There was a bright light and the whiplash jolt of collision.

Then he remembered nothing. And here he was now, sitting on a leopard pelt in a sparse but comfortable room, bare but for a thin kilt, caked in the salt of sweat from a broken fever.

“You’re awake! It’s about time, my child.”

In the doorway to his little room stood a strikingly beautiful woman in a vibrant cotton djellaba with a tall coil of braids fixed above her head with a red sash. The djellaba was patterned with brightly colored chevrons and stripes and was cinched around her narrow waist with a gold chain. She wore gold bangles on her wrists and ankles, and her small slippered footsteps set the bangles clinking as she stepped toward Yugi’s makeshift sickbed.

“Where is Seto?”

She gave him a warm but curious smile as she extended her hand.

“Recovering what’s left of your things.”

He took her hand and she helped him to his feet.

“Come have something to eat. There’s a bath ready too, when you’re ready.”

She braced him as he staggered through the doorway to the kitchen. She deposited him into one of the chairs near the hearth and gave him a bowl of porridge and a plate of fresh fruit. Yugi eyed the porridge with suspicion, but one spoonful was all it took to remind him how ravenously hungry he was, and he was slurping the last of it directly out of the bowl before he even realized he’d dropped the spoon.

She poured him a cup of frothy liquid from a pitcher and watched as he began on the fruit.

“This will help you get your strength back,” she said.

He swallowed what was in his mouth and took the cup to his lips. It had a pungent herbal smell and it was intensely bitter, but something in him knew she was telling the truth and he drained the cup of bitter liquid in a few large gulps.

He was nearly panting when he was done.

“Th-thank you,” he said feebly, wiping his lips with the back of his hand.

“Mmhmm,” she said from the other side of the room, where she was placing jars into a small woven basket.

Yugi leaned over, elbows on his knees, wincing at the limp fall of his hair. He took a deep breath and sighed it out. He reeked.

“How long was I asleep?”

“Two days, child.”

He ran his hands over his face. Everything felt dirty.

“How did we get here?”

She came over with the basket and a folded cloth.

“You came in the night in your little ship. Your friend scared my mule half to death, carrying you over his shoulder right up to my door. I thought it was jackals or a wolf, the way she was carrying on,” she said, helping Yugi up again.

“I didn’t know what to make of him. He scared me too at first! But then I saw your face. You’re the king’s vessel.”

“You know him!” Yugi said, eyes wide. He stumbled after her as she led him through the house to a modest courtyard with a wide basin that stood about two feet high.

“Who are you?” he said, bracing himself against the open doorframe.

“My name is Fatima,” she said, setting the basket down next to the basin. “Fatima Ishtar.”

She tested the water with the tips of her fingers.

“Go on, now,” she said. “I’ll be inside if you need me.”

She patted him on the shoulder as she passed.

Yugi stepped out into the courtyard, feeling for the first time the golden sun of the next world trace over his bare shoulders and chest. The touch of it on his face was exquisite, and for a few moments he just stood there, face upturned, eyes closed, feeling the warmth of it run along his body.

He slipped out of his kilt and stepped into the sun-warmed water in the basin. He kneeled down till the water covered his waist, and he cupped his hands and scooped measure after measure of water over his back and shoulders, up over his neck, his hair. He tested some of the bottles Fatima had left in the woven basket and found that two of them lathered, and he used one to wash the grit from his hair. He found clumps of dried blood here and there, but a cursory scan of his scalp revealed only a few small scratches.

He was wringing the water from his bangs when he felt a new warmth on his exposed back. He glanced over toward the house, and the doorway was darkened by Kaiba’s broad shoulders, the blue eyes almost glowing in the shade of the thatched eaves. Kaiba was bare-chested, wearing the same kind of simple kilt Yugi had found himself in. From the looks of it, he’d been outside the past two days, as his skin was bronzed all over and red around the shoulders and on the high peaks of his cheekbones.

Yugi stood up in the basin, turning to face Kaiba as the sun and the rivulets of water streaked his limbs. The light caught his damp hair, haloing him in gold. Kaiba’s breath hitched, and he barely swallowed the throaty moan that rumbled in the back of his throat.

“Oh thank god. I’m so glad you’re back,” Yugi said.

Kaiba shook his head and crossed the space between them. He took Yugi’s hands in his own and kissed the fingers of the right, then the left hand.

“I’m glad you’re alive. I thought I’d killed us.”

Yugi smiled.

“Maybe you did and we’re in heaven now.”

Kaiba watched a sunlit drop of water run from Yugi’s nipple over the repeating curves of his ribs until it reached the little divet at his hip bone.

“That’s a distinct possibility.”

Kaiba reached for the cloth in the basket and wrapped it around Yugi’s shoulders.

“You look better. I won’t even tell you what you looked like the past two days. How are you feeling?”

Yugi laughed and the force of it made his head hurt.

“Hungover. Like I got the snot knocked out of me by a large mountain.”

Kaiba smirked.

“We should be ready to go by the afternoon,” he said. “I recovered as much as I could from the crash site.”

“Hmm,” was all Yugi said.

He pressed his forehead against Kaiba’s chest, and Kaiba wrapped his long arms around Yugi’s head.

“We’ll see him soon,” Yugi said, winding his hands around Kaiba’s waist.

“We’ll see him soon,” Kaiba said in return.


	19. Chapter 19

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> this one is explicit :O

Yugi followed Fatima’s nimble fingers as best he could, copying the criss-cross wrap and elaborate knots that she wove to secure their belongings in tight cylindrical bundles. He was still a little weak from the crash and his head was foggy, but he got the hang of it slowly.

Fatima wrapped cloaks and some basic cooking tools and flints and a straw mat and ample rope in a thick woolen blanket. Yugi rolled what was left of their bodysuits, patched with fabric from Fatima’s loom, around their Dimension Disks and headsets. He packed the delicate bundle with the portable holofield rods and bits of spare hardware and tools Kaiba recovered from the crash site, and laid them gently next to the heavy burlap bag of grain for the animals.

There were loaves of bread and dried fruits and a few root vegetables and desiccated venison and great bloated water skins filled with well water and a leather satchel of sweetly spiced balms and oils and a roll of soft white cloth all packaged with care in a woven reed basket. Fatima went inside and came out with two tall clay jars sealed with cork and wax.

“You shouldn’t be more than two nights. One for each night, to bring sleep on,” she said, winking.

They carefully fixed the bundles and the baskets and the jars to the wooden rack of the pack saddle that was cinched around the little gray mule named Ahlem.

“You’re a nice girl,” Yugi said as he rubbed Ahlem’s velvety nose. “Are you a sweet, nice girl?”

Ahlem brayed and flicked her ears and lipped at Yugi’s necklace, which now bore the pendant with the king’s name as well as a little Marshmallon charm that Jounouchi had given him the night before they left. The shiny pink plastic charm was jarring in the timeless atmosphere of Aaru, and Yugi clung to it like a talisman.

“She likes you,” Fatima said. “It’s good. She can be very uncooperative with people she doesn’t like.”

“Well she doesn’t like me at all, so she’s you’re responsibility from here out,” Kaiba said over his shoulder.

He tightened the girth around the well-muscled Barb stallion named Nadir. Nadir pawed at the ground and snorted but otherwise held still while Kaiba worked, careful not to pinch the girth too tight. Kaiba made a final check of Nadir’s tack and firmly patted his flank.

“I think the animals are ready,” Kaiba said.

“Yes, but are you two?” Fatima said. “Come inside, I have something more to give you.”

They followed her inside and she bade them stand near the hearth. She went into her room for a moment and came out with a big bundle of linen.

“These were for my children,” she said, unpacking three neatly folded piles of cloth. “Rishid’s would fit you best, Seto, but I fear his isn’t finished yet.”

She held a dark blue cloak up against Kaiba’s chest.

“This will have to do for you. It’s short but I think it’s wide enough. As for you,” she said to Yugi as she handed him a deep violet cloak. “Malik’s will be a bit long. Try it on, make sure it doesn’t drag.”

They donned the cloaks and Fatima tugged the fabric into place. Wearing Isis’ robe, Kaiba was covered just a bit past the knee. Yugi was covered down to his ankles. Fatima tied the golden cords at the neck and the waist on each boy’s cloak, then stepped back to appraise them.

“Something’s missing. My son, where did you put the package I gave you the first night?”

“It’s tied to Nadir’s saddle,” Kaiba said.

“Wait here,” she said.

Yugi shifted under the thick cloak. He lifted his arms and stepped side to side, feeling the cloak swish behind him.

“Now I see why you like that jacket so much. This is fun.”

“Actually, Mokuba designed my jacket,” Kaiba said. “It was his idea to fan the tails out.”

“Yeah, but I know you like wearing it. I bet you feel like this all the time,” Yugi said, crossing his arms and lifting his chin. “I feel like the king of the mountain.”

“Good. Hold on to that. You’ll need it when they receive you in the palace.”

Yugi stuck his tongue out.

“I’m serious. You do well in front of cameras and fans, but this is another level. You’re royalty here. You probably can’t even imagine what that entails.”

Yugi’s eyes went wide.

“Me, royalty? You think so?”

Fatima returned with the bundle and slowly unwrapped the leather sheaths.She held the long one out to Kaiba.

“My son’s. Bear it well.”

He unsheathed the finely wrought sabre with a slick swoosh and tested a swipe in the air. It was well balanced, well honed. It was a gold yatagan, a long, gently recurved sabre with a rams horn hilt. It was about the length of his forearm, hand included—a good size, though the hilt felt a bit thin in his large palm.

“Thank you. Truly. I expect the pharaoh can help us return them to you when our journey is over.”

Fatima held out the remaining odd shaped sheath to Yugi.

“I’m not troubled, child. Things in Aaru have a habit of finding their own way to where they belong.”

Yugi carefully withdrew the sharply curved blade and held it high above his head. It was an engraved khopesh, with a convex sickle-like blade that came to a squared tip, and a long hexagonal handle that was split half-way by a narrow pommel that led to a leather-wrapped hilt.

“It’s beautiful,” Yugi said.

“It’s for my daughter. Make no mistake, it’s a killing blade. But the inside curve is blunt, should you want to protect rather than destroy.”

Yugi reverently sheathed the blade and tied the leather sheath around his waist. Kaiba slung the long sabre across his body, looping the wide belt from his shoulder to the opposite waist.

“Yes. Now you look ready,” Fatima said, smiling wide.

Yugi freed his arms from the cloak and hugged her tight. She was a bit taller than him, and they happened to fall in such a way as his head laid on her chest, and she cradled his head and shoulders.

“I pray for you as though you were my own,” she said.

They parted and Kaiba laid his large hand on her shoulder. She covered his hand with her own and they nodded.

“Thank you for your help.”

“And for all the good food,” Yugi said.

“Ahlem and Nadir know the road, you have only to lead them off to make camp at night. Be vigilant. Be safe.”

She led them out to the end of her homestead and a kilometer beyond, until they were soundly on the dirt path that led down to the trade road. Kaiba braced Yugi as he tentatively put a foot into one of the stirrups of Nadir’s saddle.

“Keep your head up and your posture straight,” Kaiba said. “Let your hips flow with the movement of his shoulders. You’ll start to feel a rhythm soon.”

Kaiba lifted Yugi up onto Nadir’s back and walked beside them with Ahlem’s lead in his hand.

Fatima watched them go until they were almost out of sight. They turned and waved at her at a bend in the road, and then they were gone.

 

****

 

They walked for two hours along the road, until the still-stiff hemp slippers Fatima wove rubbed Kaiba’s feet raw, and Yugi threw off his cloak and forced them to switch places.

Kaiba fell easily into sync with Nadir’s gait. There was something deeply peaceful about riding through the rocky, shrub-dotted landscape, limned as they were in the gold of the setting sun. He watched the gold light dance over Yugi’s naked shoulders and it filled him with a fresh warmth. He wondered how long it would take for the newness to give way to cherished familiarity, like it had with Mokuba when he came out of his coma. Their relationship was new then, as this one was now.

Kaiba was not a man who trusted easily. He knew this about himself. But something about the thing that had grown between him and Yugi didn’t prick at his fear so much anymore. More and more, it felt like an inevitability, and he didn’t question its half-life—he just knew on a deep level that this is how things are now.

Mountains to the east swallowed the last rays an hour before the sky darkened completely, and they set about making camp. They’d been journeying nearly seven hours, it was time for rest.

Yugi gathered firewood and chopped it into manageable piles with his khopesh while Kaiba unsaddled the animals. He set Ahlem’s pack saddle over a small boulder and laid Nadir’s saddle and blanket upside down on the sand to dry. He brushed them down with a rough cloth and gave them each a portion of grain.

“We need to give them water, right?” Yugi said.

“I think I saw a stream when we left the path.”

Kaiba drank from one of the water skins and rubbed at his bleeding heels.

“I’ll take them to the stream,” Yugi said. “You start a fire.”

Yugi put the khopesh in its sheath at his waist and stepped up to Nadir’s side. He laid a hand on the horse’s neck.

“Are you gonna be a good boy?”

“You know that he’s not going to answer you, right?” Kaiba said as he pushed small stones into a wide ring. Yugi gathered the leads from where they were tied to Ahlem’s pack saddle.

“We’re in heaven, how do you know horses don’t talk here?”

Ahlem brayed right into Yugi’s ear, startling him, which startled Nadir, and the horse snorted and pawed anxiously at the ground.

“You lack horse sense,” Kaiba said, standing. “I’ll take them to the stream. You start the fire.”

Yugi gave Kaiba a look that was equal parts sheepish and relieved. Kaiba took the leads from Yugi in one hand, and cupped his cheek with the other.

“Be careful while I’m gone.”

It was a typical Kaibaesque imperative, curt and cold and with a finality that bore threat. But Yugi knew things about Kaiba that no one else did, and he could easily read the fear and concern that lurked far beneath. The admixture of care and dominion made Yugi feel hot all over, and watching the animals calmly obey as Kaiba led them back down the path gave Yugi a terrible idea of what they could do with all the spare rope.

He busied himself with the fire. It wouldn’t do to think of those things now.

He tore off a bit of the cloth packed in with the oils and balms and dipped it in the unscented oil. He stuffed the cloth underneath some twigs in the center of the ring of stones and flicked the flint until it sparked over the little pile. Before long, the cloth and the twigs caught, and he blew on them as he added bigger and bigger sticks.

He worked his way up to whole logs and managed to build a decent fire. The desiccated wood of the desert burned easily and with only a modest amount of smoke.

Yugi took out a small copper pot and chopped bits of dried venison and figs into it. He cut up two potatoes and what looked like it could be a parsnip and put those in as well. He filled the pot with water from the water skin and set it as close to the fire as he dared.

He turned the pot at even intervals and sat hugging his knees, watching the flames dance, until he heard a whinny in the distance.

Kaiba tied up the animals again and took the liberty of sitting down directly behind Yugi, his long legs splayed out on either side. He leaned heavily against Yugi’s back, arms snaking around his stomach.

“You’re sunburnt. You shouldn’t have taken your cloak off.”

“It was hot!” Yugi said, leaning back into the weight of Kaiba’s chest.

“There must be a balm in that basket.”

Yugi looked back at Kaiba with the firelight glinting in his narrowed eyes.

“Are you offering to give me a massage?”

Kaiba made use of his long reach to grab the basket from where it sat with the rest of their supplies. He reached a little farther and tugged over the large bundle that held the woolen blankets.

“Spread the mat or the blanket. I’ll figure out which jar to use.”

“Oh, jar!” Yugi said, hopping up. He went to Ahlem’s pack saddle, where the clay jars were still tied. He brought one back and uncorked it with some difficulty, then held it out to Kaiba.

“A final gift from Mrs. Ishtar.”

Kaiba sniffed the jar, eyebrows raised. He took a tentative sip, licking his lips.

“It’s meade.”

He took a long gulp and passed the jar back to Yugi.

Yugi took a sip and almost coughed. It was intensely sweet, but had an aggressive alcoholic bite that made the back of his throat feel raw. But then he felt the warmth spreading through him, and he took another generous sip.

“Not bad,” he said.

They unrolled the straw mat and covered it with a wool blanket and sat down as they were before. Kaiba poured some oil into the palm of his hand and gently started working it over Yugi’s shoulders. They paused at intervals to pass the jar back and forth and to turn the copper pot of food, and Yugi collapsed back onto the mat feeling a little more boneless each time.

“That feels,” Yugi said, moaning as Kaiba worked at a knot near his neck, “so good.”

Kaiba let his hands move low, working down to the juncture of hip and thigh. He poured another palmful of oil and slid his hands forward, around toward Yugi’s stomach. Yugi gasped and leaned back against Kaiba’s chest.

“Does this feel good?”

Yugi arched his hips, pressing them close. Leaned back, his erection tented out the front of his kilt.

“Uh,” he said, biting his lip. “Stupid question.”

Kaiba slipped his hands under the kilt and palmed Yugi’s cock, and the wet slip of the oil made it catch the firelight. Kaiba could smell briny exertion and the spiced balms and firesmoke in Yugi’s hair, and the smell of sex as he pumped Yugi’s cock, and the heady mix and Yugi’s high keening had him painfully hard, pressed up into the small of Yugi’s back.

“Please. Seto please,” Yugi said, shifting his weight so he could tuck his knees under.

Kaiba followed him, rocking forward so he curled around Yugi’s body. The motion nudged his kilt open and he hissed as his dripping head slid across the back of Yugi’s thigh. Yugi braced them with both arms and Kaiba leaned heavy against him, right hand still slowly rocking Yugi half way to climax. With his left hand he worked the oil over his own aching hardness and guided it between Yugi’s legs. Kaiba dropped his arm to brace himself, forcing himself to still.

“Don’t stop now,” Yugi said, throwing his weight back.

Kaiba hissed as he slid an inch inside. The heat and the pressure was so sudden that it knocked him out of focus, and he instinctively thrust his hips forward. The force of it knocked Yugi down onto his elbows, and he used the leverage to rock back even further, sinking them together to the base.

“I couldn’t stop now if I wanted to,” Kaiba hissed into Yugi’s ear as he drew back.

“Then don’t,” Yugi said, crying out as Kaiba snapped his hips forward.

They rocked together like that until their knees burned against the wool and the sweat dripped down Kaiba’s chest and onto Yugi’s back, down along his spine to pool in the hair at the base of his neck.

Kaiba pressed him down into the blanket, hand between his shoulder blades, and worked them till Yugi was beyond moaning, mute and panting against his folded arms. Kaiba pulled out and gently flipped him, edging himself off the blanket to pump himself to climax over the sand. He took Yugi in his mouth and ran his tongue but twice around the weeping head before Yugi gushed hot down his throat.

Kaiba curled low around Yugi, head on his chest, long limbs caging Yugi’s trembling legs.

“I needed that,” Yugi sighed.

“We need to eat,” Kaiba said, though he made no move to get up.

“Soup should be done. I’ll get the bread…in a minute,” Yugi said, running his fingers through Kaiba’s damp hair.

Kaiba made a little humming sound, a rare concession to gentle pleasure, and Yugi knew it to be a vulnerable sound.

“Is this all right?” Kaiba said.

When he made no attempt to clarify, Yugi smiled softly and smoothed down his hair.

“It’s perfect.”

Kaiba lifted his head, looked up at Yugi’s relaxed expression for a moment, then dropped his head back down again.

“You can trust it. You can trust me,” Yugi said.

“I wouldn’t be here if I couldn’t.”

Yugi laughed and sat up.

“Yes you would! To see him!”

Yugi extracted himself from Kaiba’s limbs and retrieved the bread and copper spoon from the pack.

They drained the last of the meade and dipped bread in the light broth and ate until there was nothing left. They drank some more from the water skin and cleaned the cooking tools and bundled the remaining food up tight and Kaiba hung the bundle from an acacia bough.

They poked the embers of the fire into a pile and set the remaining wood far enough away. They checked the animals’ leads. Then they rolled up their cloaks into makeshift pillows and slid their weapons underneath, and, spooned together, soon were fast asleep.

 

****

 

Yugi woke to the feeling of eyes upon him. Kaiba was still and solid beside him, but he could hear the sure sound of footsteps against the rock-littered ground in the distance. He quietly slid his hand under his pillow and edged the khopesh out of its sheath.

Hs could almost see the figure edging closer in the embers’ dying light, a cloaked figure moving smooth like a stalking leopard. His heart hammered in his throat and he willed his breathing to still, like he’d practiced when he synched with Kaiba.

The figure came perilously close and crouched down low. Yugi saw an arm extend toward him and he reacted on instinct, whipping the khopesh with the blunted concave side out.

The blunted edge screamed against the hard metal of a gauntlet, and the crouched man quickly pried the weapon from Yugi’s stunned fingers.

Then the man dragged him up by the wrists and was hugging him tightly, and there was a rich, dark voice in his ear saying aibou aibou it’s okay it’s okay and it was okay, it was so very okay, and Yugi collapsed into the warmth of those arms and the richness of the voice filled his consciousness, soothing his beating heart as the darkness swallowed him again.

 

****


	20. Chapter 20

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Pining is a sneaking feeling.

Kaiba was jolted awake by a sudden motion and the scream of metal on metal. He braced himself on the rapidly cooling empty space beside him on the mat and sprung up, drawing the Ishtars’ golden sabre as he stood. His eyes adjusted to the dark and he could pick out a distantly familiar murmuring through the jackhammer strikes of his heart against the alcohol-thinned membrane of his eardrums. In the height of an adrenaline spike, a familiar and comfortable state for him, he savored the marked slowing of time and tried to tamp down the fiery panic that seized him when he saw the stranger’s form tanging with Yugi’s body. In the moments between moments, he sifted through what little he could see in the dark and formulated his attack. 

The attacker was small and appeared unarmed. Kaiba made full use of his height as he stepped close to press himself against Yugi’s back, reaching around to strike the attacker in the side of the head with the hilt of the sabre. The attacker staggered back and sunk to one knee in the sand, and Yugi’s limp body sagged against Kaiba’s chest. Kaiba caught him around the waist and held him close, the sabre held protectively in front of them.

“Who are you!” he shouted at the crouched figure.

“Stay your hand, Seto,” said a voice to his right.

Kaiba pivoted as best he could while still shielding the body in his arms. A hand closed around his wrist and sent a prickling electric sensation up his arm. He felt a cold blooming at the back of his skull and the world started to spin. He dropped the sabre into the magician’s waiting hand.

“You…did you just drug me?” Kaiba slurred as he struggled to stay upright.

“Kaiba,” said Atem. He reached out to brace Yugi’s shoulder as Kaiba’s grip slipped. “It’s me. It’s us. You need to calm down.”

“You!” Kaiba spat, wrenching his hand from Mahad’s grip. “Don’t ambush us in the night and then tell me to calm down.”

“I’m sorry, I should have waited for dawn, I know. I couldn’t wait.”

Atem tried to ease Yugi’s body out of Kaiba’s arms, but Kaiba curled defensively around him, clinging desperately.

“You're disoriented,” Atem said. “I’ll take him.”

“What did you do to him?” Kaiba snarled through clenched teeth.

Mahad laid a hand on Kaiba’s shoulder and gave a directive but magic-empty squeeze. Kaiba flinched at the contact but didn’t pull away.

“He fainted. Let me examine him.”

A moment passed in tense stillness and pregnant quiet, and then Kaiba exhaled audibly and eased Yugi down onto the sand with Atem’s help.

“He’s still breathing,” Kaiba said.

“His lifeforce is quite strong,” Mahad said, kneeling next to the body. “He’s very probably just exhausted. He doesn’t belong here, it’s probably putting additional strain on his body.”

Mahad held his open palms over Yugi’s eyes. He slowly moved his hands to hover over Yugi’s throat, then his heart, then his stomach.

“Help me move him to that bed there,” he said.

Atem took up Yugi’s ankles and Kaiba grabbed him by the shoulders. Mahad slid his hand under Kaiba’s arms to brace Yugi’s lolling head.

“On three. One, two—”

They lifted Yugi easily and laid him down again on the wool-covered straw mat. Kaiba covered Yugi’s legs with the Ishtars’ deep blue cloak.

“We could use a fire. If you have any water, bring it here,” the magician said.

Kaiba brought him both the full and the near-empty water skins. Atem stumbled in the starlit dark until he found the wood pile.

“Let me work. Try not to worry, he’ll sense it in the state he’s in.”

They grunted their assents.

“Most of all, don’t fight.”

 

****

 

There was a shining, blue and red, that cut the dark. The world was spinning around him, or he was spinning around the world. A figure, like a god, bent over his eyes, that is if he even had eyes anymore—there was no feeling, no hand or foot or ground beneath to support, only dark, dark, dark. No mouth, no lungs with which to breathe.

Breathe.

A command from the god to breathe.

There was a creaking, like the world was being bent over an ancient knee and was beginning to snap open. The whine before the sharp crack, the point at which bend gives to break.

He could not let it break.

In the space of the keening sounds around him he went to the depth of the darkness and drew, like it was a well he drew, though he didn’t know how.

Breathe, good.

And as the air went in, it brought with it a golden light.

 

****

 

Atem took a stack of wood from the pile and carefully balanced three pieces in a pyramid over the dying embers. His anxious, restless hands refused to cooperate with tearing bits of dry cloth and bark for kindling, so in a fit of resigned frustration he tossed his open hand toward the pyramid of logs and set the thing ablaze. It was dark magic, a poor choice at night and far from the temples as they were, and poorer still with Mahad engrossed in chant, bent over the still and unresponsive form on the straw mat.

What he wished would be a joyful reunion had the feeling of a final rite, and he felt stripped his patience and most of his self control, shadows be damned. And—though he would never admit it—Kaiba’s presence emboldened him, made him feel a little more restless, a little too eager to throw caution to the wind.

Kaiba was pacing the length of the camp like a caged lion, back and forth, the labor of his breathing making his shoulders heave. Suddenly illuminated by the blaze, Atem could read fear and fatigue on his face. 

They lock eyes across the light and heat of the roaring fire, ruby to sapphire, and it stilled them both. They held one another's gaze for a moment. Atem cocked his head toward Mahad, who sat on his knees with his hands held over Yugi’s head and stomach, chanting softly. Kaiba walked over and kneeled next to the pair, waiting patiently for word.

It was eerily quiet. The crackle of the flames was too loud in Atem’s ears. The horses and Mahad’s mount swayed anxiously on their leads. It was all a far cry from the picture Atem had in his mind when they set out from the palace that morning.

He shouldn’t have expected anything. It had been hard to tamp down the excitement, the childlike joy he felt when he sensed his partner’s presence in Aaru. Now the excitement had been overcome with worry and a self-conscious feeling of uselessness and the budding growth of a fantastic headache.

He slumped down to the ground, sitting on his cape in the sand. He kicked his legs out toward the fire and sighed, willing the tension in his jaw release.

Suddenly, Kaiba was next to him, holding out a tall clay jar.

“Mahad said he’ll come around. Maybe in a few hours. Maybe by daylight.”

“Mahad is a very good healer,” Atem said, gazing unfocused at the dancing flames.

Kaiba reached for the cork and Atem held the jar for him as he pulled it free. Atem took one greedy sniff of the pungent liquid inside and his eyes grew wide and hungry. He took a long few gulps, then pushed the jar into the sand between them.

He folded his arms on his knees and rested his chin on top, face canted toward Kaiba. Kaiba looked so severe in the stark light of the fire, like a brutalist sculpture, all cuts and angles and outrageous proportions. The light cast him in bronze with the gray patina of sand and grit from traveling. Only the glow of the deep blue eyes gave him the impression of life.

“This isn’t what I hoped for,” Atem said.

Kaiba took a sip from the jar and set it back.

“Hope is a trap we set for ourselves,” he said. He rubbed absently at the dried blood on the raw skin of his heels. “Hope is a self-indulgent redressing of the raw desire we won’t admit drives our futile actions. It’s an illusion clung to by the weak. Hope is a useless emotion.”

“Your foot. I can help,” Atem said, reaching out tentatively for Kaiba’s bent leg.

Kaiba flinched when Atem touched his ankle. Atem gave a gentle tug, and he extended his leg into the space between them. Atem carefully lifted Kaiba’s foot and laid it over his own extended knee.

“Hope is an illusion, you’re right,” he said, carefully cupping Kaiba’s heel. “But it’s an illusion that people in darkness need.”

“I suppose you’re a shining example of the success of necessary evil,” Kaiba said, wincing at the burning sensation of Atem’s healing magic. “How many lives were thrown into darkness before you achieved your great hope?”

“Do you always pick fights when you’re worried?” Atem said as he tested the newly healed skin with his thumb.

Kaiba scoffed and withdrew his leg.

“Worried is such an ordinary word,” he said, scowling at the fire.

“This is an extraordinary worry, isn’t it,” Atem said, gripping fistfulls of sand.

Kaiba took a long gulp of the meade and pushed the half empty jar toward Atem, who gratefully nursed the jar as he stared into the flames. He was so lost in thought that the sensation of fingers running along the back of his neck at the hairline came through his distant, dreamy state in stages. He frowned when he finally placed the feeling, and Kaiba withdrew his fingers.

“You’re bleeding,” Kaiba said.

“You hit me pretty hard,” he said, massaging his temples.

“You’re lucky his gentleness has rubbed off on me. I could have killed you.”

Atem snorted a dark and derisive laugh.

“Kill me? Where do you think you are?”

Kaiba sighed.

“I assume you still have a brain here. You’re probably concussed. You shouldn’t go to sleep until Mahad can do whatever he does to heal you.”

Atem drained the jar and placed it down in the sand.

“Then I’ll take the first watch. You should get some rest.”

Atem was prepared for a fight in response, at the least protest packaged as some biting sarcasm. But Kaiba was weary and dangerously drained of his trademark will, and so he only huffed a little before setting about the great challenge of arranging his long limbs in a passably comfortable configuration. Atem watched him curl up and thought of baby deer folding their spindly legs. It wasn’t long before Kaiba’s breaths came elongated and even, face softening in necessary repose.

It made Atem uncomfortable to see his formidable rival so vulnerable. A thicket of emotions pricked his belly. Surprise. Envy. Curiosity. Frustration. Fondness—the sharpest prick.

There was the sensation of an unknown void being filled as he watched the firelight dance over the high cheekbones and the lidded eyes. He reached his hand out to touch the sleeping head. He withdrew his hand before it made contact and stood in an attempt to shake the feeling off.

He took off his cloak and laid it over the sleeping form. He walked away from the camp, away from the warmth of the firelight and into the dark desert, hoping the cold would clear his head.

 

****


	21. Chapter 21

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I’m tired, you’re tired, everyone is tired.

Three months.

For three months he fielded inquiries about the whereabouts of his brother and took board meetings alone and launched the projects laid out in the schedule Seto left. Three months of plans and blueprints executed without fault, another successful quarter for the empire.

Three months of dead quiet in the manor that chilled him, so that by the end of those three months he’d practically moved into the suite at HQ normally saved for late night crashes.

Three months of Isono quietly observing his dwindling appetite, so that by the end of those three months Isono was preparing and delivering each meal and saying "Mr. Mokuba, _please_."

Three months of throwing himself into the preparations for next quarter, just in case. Three months of furious work and no small amount of craftiness on his part, so that by the end of those three months he had turned the feelings of the board and upper management from skepticism to surprise to delight to shock at how much a Kaiba he was becoming. He had no head for technology, so he had to throw himself fully at the business aspect of the empire. When he heard whispers here and there that betrayed the general feeling—that he would surpass his brother as a CEO—it filled him with a deep sadness.

Three months of aggressive moderation at the ramp up to internationals, preparing showdowns and ranking bashes between the five major Duel Monsters leagues across the globe. Three months of a growing reliance on the good humor of a certain shaggy-haired front-runner, which by the end of those three months seemed to be the only thing that could cheer him up anymore.

Three months of disappointment for the long-suffering girl-almost-woman who didn't in the least resent him for it, so that by the end of those three months Mokuba feelt he didn't deserve the dinner invite she sent him. 

He stared at his phone a long while, feeling the weight of those three months.

"Mr. Mokuba," Isono said, breaking him from his trance. "You should go. Not for her, for yourself."

He forced a smile to his lips and found the rest of his body following after it. A small step toward something a little lighter.

"Yeah. Okay."

"I'll prepare the car."

 

****

 

A hand on his shoulder roused him, and he blinked the sleep from his eyes. 

"Come on. Wake up. It's your turn to sit watch."

Kaiba's voice. Atem squinted in the dark. He could make out the outline of Kaiba's broad shoulders against the dying glow of the fire.

"Impossible. It should be dawn already."

Atem sat up and stretched his aching neck. He stood and shook the pins and needles out of his legs. He unfurled his cloak-turned-blanket and pulled it around his shoulders against the chill.

"You must be exhausted if you're asking me to switch so soon," he grumbled, rubbing the sand from his hair.

Kaiba loomed near him, his whole posture radiating aggravation. The frantic energy that rolled off of him made Atem's heart jump.

"After what felt like two hours, I began counting my breaths. I chose an advanced pranayama meditation used by swamis in the himalayas."

Kaiba huffed, and Atem heard a tremulous note of anxiety amid the frustration.

"The exercise takes three hours."

Atem's body went rigid. He swept his eyes around the dark camp, suddenly anxious for his friend and protector.

"Mahad."

The young king saw the shape of the magician looming over the prone body of his partner. It was dark, but the tongues of shadow that danced like flames around Yugi's lifeless body were darker. He felt a sting in his fingers and in the soles of his feet. The pain rocketed up his body until it pooled between his eyes, throbbing with his quickening inhales.

"Mahad, the dawn."

The magician turned, and his eyes shone with an internal light, casting a blue glow over the desolate little camp.

"It's begun. We won't see another dawn until it's over."

Kaiba stepped into the glow cast by the magician's foreseeing eyes. He had to get to Yugi. He felt a warmth behind him, and when he glanced over his shoulder he was nearly blinded by the sudden light from Atem's glowing forehead.

"Until what's over?" Kaiba said, voice booming over the growing hum around them.

Atem and Mahad stood on either side of him, bathing him in eldritch light. He felt a sudden pinch in his chest. The pinch grew so painful that he nearly doubled over as they said in unison:

"The trial."

 

****

 

Ryou was a light sleeper when he slept at all. It went in cycles of depressive immobility and days-long restless wakefulness, of which he would take full advantage before the inevitable crash came. 

He came alive at night, preferring the quiet and the stillness for his work. He could breathe easier knowing that most of the souls around him lay distant in sleep. It gave him more room to think. 

He was recently made glad of his longtime habit when he realized how much easier it was to talk to Malik late at night, when the other side of the world was lucid. 

Tonight Ryou’s phone sat silent—Malik was on a three-day field mission in Algiers. So Ryou sat up painting tiny storefront signs on tiny facades for his miniature alpine village, part of a large diorama he’d been commissioned to do for an ambassador from Switzerland. 

He’d closed his windows so that only a sliver of chilly air could cut through. He heard through the partition the call of a bird, a familiar sound that told him dawn was looming near.

“Time to make the donuts already,” he said to the drying figurines on a shelf above his workspace.

He pinched the bridge of his nose when he felt the familiar headache descend. He carefully screwed closed the lids on his set of lacquer paints, leaned his head back and closed his eyes.

When he opened them again, he found himself standing at the mouth of a long, dark hall. He groped out to his right and made contact with the a wall of gritty, hand-hewn stone.

“Hello?”

The echo of his own voice answered him back.

“Is anybody here?”

He stepped slowly down the hall, fumbling slightly on the rough earthen floor. He could make out the dim outlines of rows of doors in the distance.

“Hello?” he called again, louder this time. 

“Hello, Yadonushi,” blew a dark voice in his ear. 

The humid heat of the breath against his neck sent a numbing through his limbs, and he barely registered his own violent trembling before a fist closed tight around a clump of his thick white hair and an arm hooked clear around his waist. He felt himself violently jerked back against a hard, warm body, and he willed his senseless hands to push vainly at the thick-muscled arm that held him. Sudden silent tears spilled fast down his cheeks.

“God, you’re pathetic,” the voice hummed in his ear. “At least put up a decent fight.”

The fear shook him so deep that he wretched, and the presence dropped him in alarm. He fell down on his hands and knees with a hard smack and vomited onto the packed dirt floor.

“You’re a mess,” the voice said, colored with an acidic amusement. “Was I really that bad?”

There were hands in Ryou’s hair, gentle, threateningly tender, gathering it away from his face as he spit out the last of the bile that coated his tongue.

“Yes,” he breathed, closing his eyes against the spinning. He wiped at his mouth with the back of his hand. “You were that bad.”

The answering laugh was dark and vicious and chillingly close, painting the pale shell of his ear cherry red.

“Then why did you save me?”

Ryou shook his head, fists balling against the ragged ground.

“I didn’t—You’re not real. This is a nightmare.”

The presence grabbed him softly by the arms and pulled him up to standing.

“Look at me.”

Ryou squeezed his eyes closed.

“You’re gone, you—you died. This is a nightmare, you aren’t really here.” 

“You keep me in a box of shadows and take me out when you’re lonely. If I’m here, it’s because you brought me out. And I’m here all right.”

A large hand closed on his chin, stilling his shaking head. He grit his teeth and ground them together so hard it made a rasping sound.

“Look at me, Yadonushi.”

Ryou balled his fists and sucked in a harsh lungful of dry air and opened his brown eyes wide. When the sparse light hit the back of his brain, the image it painted struck him mute.

There was a queer familiarity to the violet-colored, almond-shaped eyes, though he was sure he had never seen them before. The ragged cheshire grin was eerily bright in the golden brown skin. The hair too was different from how he remembered: a dusky gray rather than his own stark white, and cut above the shoulders. 

Bakura was huge, towering half a head over Ryou’s 5’9”. He seemed to be Kaiba’s height, but with a thick build that boasted formidable strength. In layered gold and floor length open red robe, he was more imposing than the Bakura with the black duster and tennis shoes that Ryou remembered. But instead of a quaking fear, Ryou felt something soft and creeping that troubled him to define.

His fingers grazed the pale scar that ran through the eye and over the cheek. He took in the aging bruises and welts that littered Bakura’s exposed legs and torso with a gutless awe. Awe had momentarily replaced the fear he felt, and he forgot himself entirely in that moment of incomprehension. He faintly registered the sound of his own ragged breathing. 

“You.” he whispered.

Bakura thumped his chest with his right fist and splayed his other hand out beside him. 

“Ardutu Serquis Malaku Aqefyah Baqaru.”

Ryou stared, slack-jawed and uncomprehending. Bakura laughed his cruel and unhinged and magnetic bark of laughter and bowed low on bended knee.

“Prince of the Village of Thieves, Akefia the Conqueror. Born in the flames of ruin, with blood and suffering as my nursemaid. Reluctant final acolyte of the temple of Ishtar-she-who-brings-war at Kul Elna. First captain of the tomb runners, last of the banished viceroys of Assur. By the death of all my forebears, heir to the crown of the Tigris in exile. It’s a pleasure to formally meet you, Yadonushi-sama.”

Bakura extended his open hand, and Ryou gripped him at the wrist. They solemnly exchanged the tombkeepers’ greeting.

“So you’re one of them now? The tomb runners used to pillage and raid for sport. How pathetically soft the were without me. I bet that bastard Set extorted them into guarding the very tombs they once proudly robbed,” Bakura said, sneering. 

“They aren’t like you,” Ryou said softly.

“Don’t play dumb. You sought the tombkeeper captain  _because_  he’s like me. You missed me so bad you took my only living heir as refuge.” 

Ryou wretched again, dry and painful, and it shook his whole body. He clapped his hand over his mouth.

“How is my great-grandson?” Bakura said, folding his arms over his bare and scar-streaked chest. “Is he as good a lover as I was?” 

Ryou broke at that. He stood straight and tall, a deep stillness settling over him. His features frosted over, eyes glinting glass-like in the candlelit hall. 

“Don’t use that word, please. Malik is nothing like you, he—and you never loved me. Never. A-and…”

“And?”

“You—you aren’t him,” Ryou said, staring blankly into Bakura’s red-rimmed violet eyes.

Bakura threw his head back and laughed, long, belly-shaking laughs.

“God. You’re a freak to the end. If you miss the part of me that was Zorc, you’re even crazier than I thought.”

Ryou bit his lip. 

“I guess I am crazy if what I see when I finally dream again is you bullying me.”

Bakura snorted.

“I wish this was a dream. This is my living nightmare,” he said, pulling his robe aside. There was a killing wound over his liver and it gurgled clotted black blood as he breathed. 

“Besides, you couldn’t dream if you wanted to.” 

Bakura pulled his robe over the oozing hole and gave Ryou a pitying look.

“You’re a dream eater, my devoted landlord. You have an endless capacity for darkness. You crave darkness like it’s food, because to you, it is. You sucked me in before I could properly die because I’m your darkest mark. All my pain and rage must be delicious to a monster like you.”

Ryou’s eyes slitted and he turned away, giving Bakura his shoulder.

“You shut up. I’m done with you. I’m going to wake up now.”

Bakura gripped Ryou’s shoulder and squeezed hard.

“Wait. Hear me out. You kept me for a reason. A good one.”

Ryou edged out of Bakura’s grasp and took a step back. He took a deep breath. He had spent the better part of a decade with the spirit of the ring. He could taste the shifting flavors of its lies. What he tasted now was a tart, guileless desperation. He flinched when he realized how much pleasure he took in the fact that Bakura was in some way at his mercy now. 

“You want to save your friends. Don’t you, Yadonushi?”

Resolved, he met the piercing violet eyes with his own and nodded.

 

****

 

Shizuka rolled and chopped leaves of basil into neat little ribbons. She could hear her brother's voice in the dining room, and then a consonant ripple of laughter, his and Mokuba's. The sound was like a balm. She had been growing more and more worried about her brother and about her—she wondered if she could still call Mokuba her boyfriend. 

It had been a hard spring, and it was turning out to be a hard summer. Even she felt Yugi’s abcense. Whenever she visited Kame Games during one of Jounouchi’s shifts, a blue gloom sucked the color out of all the bright displays.

Mokuba had it much worse. She could see him unraveling slowly the longer his brother was away.

She refused to believe they were gone. They would come back. They would. If she had to hold everyone together until they did, well. There isn’t anything she wouldn’t do.

She spilled a palmful of black peppercorns onto the cutting board and gently crushed them with the flat of her knife. She pushed half the basil and all of the crushed pepper onto the flat of her knife and gently brushed it into the pan of simmering crushed tomatoes.

She heard the sound of keys in the door. She perked up considerably at that: they were expecting.

“Oh! Mai,” came Mokuba’s voice.

“Well hello there, young Kaiba,” said Mai, amused. “I subscribed to Time Magazine when I heard you could be man of the year. Don’t you disappoint me now.”

Mai was the one other person Shizuka could rely on when she herself needed a little pick-me-up. She rinsed and dried her hands, not wanting to miss out on hugs hello.

“Hello Mai!” she called from the kitchen.

“Hello, honey!”

There was the sound of a long zipper and then another—Mai’s boots. Shizuka stepped up to the entrance just as Mai was putting on her house slippers.

“Jounouchi!” she said sharply. “You look like hell.”

Jounouchi rubbed the back of his neck and sighed.

“Nice to see you too, ya old harpie.”

“Manners!” Shizuka said. “Come on in, would you like some tea?”

“Yes please,” Mai said, following Jounouchi into the living room.

Mokuba grabbed Shizuka’s wrist, stopping them between the front door and the kitchen. Shizuka’s eyes widened

“Shizuka,” he said, cradling her face in his palms. “I’m really sorry. All this time, it’s been nuts over there. I—”

“Shhh,” she said, gently placing her small hands on his chest. “It’s okay.”

She watched his face go from tense and neutral—too like his brother—to open and scared and relieved and it almost brought tears to her eyes. She leaned in and kissed him, and she could feel him unwind beneath her fingers.

“I can make tea,” he said, dreamy, when she pulled away. “If you want. You can go hang out.”

She smiled. He ran his hand along her waist as he passed into the kitchen.

She peeked into the living room, where Mai and her brother were already sorting through some new cards they each had saved for the other.

“Seriously,” Mai said. “You look unwell. What gives?”

Jounouchi cracked his neck and leaned back. The angle highlighted the bags under his eyes.

“I ain’t been sleeping so great these days.”

“Something on your mind?” Mai said, kicking off her slippers. She crossed her legs, wiggled her red-lacquered toes.

“Nah,” he said, gazing appreciatively at the exposed length of her calf, tracing the anklebone and the arch of her foot with his eye.

“I just been having, I dunno. The strangest dreams.”

 

****

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bakura - descended from Assyrian refugees! If anyone speaks Akkadian and can correct the silly name I gave him, please feel free. 
> 
> Bakura as the Ishtar’s ancestor! Because Thief King Bakura and Malik look alike I think! And because Ishtar is an Assyrian goddess. 
> 
> Thank you to everyone who reads. <3 Hope you’re all better rested than our heroes.


	22. Chapter 22

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ryou, sly like the cloud-shrouded moon.

Ryou lifted his face to the moonlight. 

Something about moonlight soothed him. Solitary and wan, pale and alone but content to shine alone, and hide by turns, to turn away, to duck behind clouds. So quiet—a listening body, not a speaking body like the radiative sun. Dependable. Distant, but reliable.

Ryou liked the moon quite a bit.

There was an unseasonal chill in the air, and a lingering humidity from the day’s light rain. His jeans clung to his calves, cold and damp, as he walked his bike along the riverside path.

‘Tonight, Yadonushi. I mean it.’

He glanced at the translucent figure beside him.

“He’ll never trust me ever again.”

‘I can see into your head. He already doesn’t trust you. He never really did.’

Ryou bit his lip and mounted the bike.

“All right,” he said. “Well. I’m trusting you. If you, I mean, if this is all a ruse—”

‘A ruse? Who says that? You need to stop reading those fantasy novels.’

One side of Ryou’s lip twitched up a fraction.

‘And eat some meat, you’re even skinnier than you were before.’

“Yes, mother.”

‘I’m serious. I hope you can climb the fence. If you can’t, we’re fucked.’

“I still don’t know why we can’t just go in through the gate.”

Bakura sighed and gestured with his hands as he talked.

‘I’ve already explained to you how this works. You know where the cameras are. The high fence in the back is the only way in.’

The moon followed Ryou as he rode down the path, and under the moon was the pale shadow of Bakura’s hair.

This Bakura ran hotter than the spirit of the ring that Ryou remembered. He was louder, moodier, higher maintenance. He was viciously blunt, but less cruel. Less cruel. Bordering on his own brand of kind—

Ryou pedaled hard, choosing uphill trails, desperate to fight off the stinging guilt he felt. Guilt for what they were about to do, guilt for what they’d already done, and guilt for how comforting he found the constant presence at his side.

For weeks now Bakura had been following him everywhere, teaching him how to case targets, how to pick locks and spot cameras and how to steal.

He stole a set of lock picks from a big chain hardware store. He stole clothes, reams of black clothes and gloves and even a few pairs of shoes each with different treads to wear and discard after each mission.

He saw a man beating his dog and got so upset that Bakura convinced him to steal the man’s wallet, and they did, and they bought a burner phone and minutes with the money they found inside.

What started as tremulous anxiety gave way to a bone-deep thrill every time they pulled off a job. Even the tiniest heist, a single pair of driving gloves from an outlet store, gave Ryou a satisfaction so deep that he stumbled back to his bike with his hands clasped over his mouth to keep himself from smiling.

Ryou smiled now as he tucked his hair into the black beanie he stole right in front of the bulky figure a loss prevention agent at a high end shop. The guard was too busy suspiciously eyeing a prim looking dark skinned couple. Ryou heard them speaking Arabic, though it didn’t sound like the Egyptian dialect he was used to. He was so incensed by the profiling, he stole the hat right in front of the guard. They had ten hats at home, but he had wanted to do something, anything to feel less of a useless, impotent loser.

He didn’t have Kaiba’s resources or Malik’s cunning. He didn’t have Yugi’s depthless empathy and patience. He didn’t have the pharaoh’s noble disposition. He didn’t have Bakura’s brute strength.

He was Ryou, just Ryou, quick smart fingers and mousy personality, easy to overlook, white hair or no. Invisibility as a superpower. The factthat people found him creepy for reasons neither they nor he could identify and so avoided him was his primary strength. Nobody liked to look him in the eyes. All he had to do was to look into any suspicious eyes that turned his way and smile sweetly, wait for them to shudder and retreat.

Maybe he would become a king of thieves too. Steal from the rich, give to whoever. He chuckled to himself.

‘What’s so funny?’

“I thought you could see inside my head,” Ryou whispered. They were approaching the fence behind the housing complex.

Bakura crossed his thick arms and smiled.

‘It excites you. It should, it’s in your blood.’

Ryou double knotted his shoe laces and tucked the loops behind the tongue of his sneakers.

“I thought you said we weren’t related.”

Bakura laughed.

‘We’re not, my dear son of a tomb raider. I’m sorry—archeologist.’

Ryou stuffed his bike between two bushes and stepped back to make sure it was hidden. He approached the high chain link fence.

‘One big motion, don’t hesitate until your feet hit the ground on the other side. And quietly. Come on, I know you can.’

Ryou took a few quick steps and hopped up onto the fence. Bakura was climbing needlessly beside him, coaching him, and because of it he stayed collected enough to throw one long leg over the top bar, then close the remaining distance with a long but exhilarating jump.

‘Good. Good, Yadonushi.’

“Now?”

‘Once you’re in the unit, you’ll need to get into his dreams.’

Ryou inched along the outside wall of the complex, creeping in the shadow of the building.

“But how?”

‘Give me your hands when we find him and I’ll do the rest.’

“Okay. But just my hands,” Ryou conceded, silently ascending the concrete stairwell.

“You won’t hurt him, right?”

He slipped the lock picks from his back pocket and dripped some WD-40 onto the ends.

“Bakura?”

 

****

 

Jounouchi thought Korea was just fine.

Mokuba sent him there after a successful few rounds in the Philippines and Taiwan. It felt good to win, and Jounouchi was winning, and the world was taking note.

Now he was Somebody. Now he had stylish clothes and an apartment with a guest room and no debt and no worry over bills. He had an enviable DuelDisk made custom by the creator himself—there were whispers of Kaiba’s new pet among the sorer losers. With the game king off the circuit, it was only natural that the media had high expectations of the dark horse that took his slot at all the tournaments. If he didn’t have Battle City and his good performance at Battle City Doubles to stand on, there would have been even more cries of favoritism.

He had fans now. He had fan mail. Children recognized him at the grocery store, and he had learned to bring a pen whenever he went back to Kame Games.

It was a striking change from the food service doubles and long bike messenger hauls and hand-me-down clothes of his life only seven months prior.

Private jets, a liaison on the ground, and Mokuba’s video calls every other night for strategy and planning. Anything he wanted in his off time—anything.

It was a lush life. And yet.

A litany of unfamiliar ceilings and ever changing rooms all found the same Jounouchi, plagued every night by the same strange dreams. He was restless and anxious, and Yugi’s lengthening absence filled him with a lingering unease.

He collapsed into a plush armchair in the KC Skylounge at Incheon International. He flipped through some magazines left on the coffee table. Business magazines from different countries, mostly, some medical journals, a few tech reports. He counted three different covers that bore Mokuba’s face.

“Breaker two Charlie, this is Top Dog. Come in, Boss Baby,” he spoke into his wrist watch. “Repeat, This is Top Dog. Come in, Boss Baby. Breaker 2 Charlie, over.”

“Wilco, Top Dog,” came a tinny voice in his earpiece.

He turned the dial on his watch until the top right corner of the screen read 2C.

“Ya here, buddy?”

“Affirmative, TD. What’s your 20?”

“Skylounge,” Jounouchi said, putting his feet up on the table. “Not a soul in sight.”

“Then why didn’t you videochat?”

“Dunno. I look like shit.”

“Like I care how you look,” Mokuba said. “How you doing?”

Jounouchi rubbed his tired eyes.

“I’m a mess, kid.”

“Can’t tell from your dueling. Take some time off when you get home. Four days?”

Jounouchi rubbed the stubble on his cheek.

“What about you? You sound tired.”

“I’m Mokuba Kaiba,” crackled the voice in his ear, as though that was explanation enough.

Jounouchi winced.

“Take a day. Let’s take Shizuka to the marine research center. I know you can get us into that dolphin enclosure, she’d lose her damn mind.”

“That’s a negative, Top Dog. I’m booked till September.”

“I’ll book ya right in the teeth unless you take a breather soon. You’re gonna run yourself into the ground.”

There was a long pause.

“All right. But only if you agree to test a project for me. High clearance, heavy stuff.”

“Done.”

A voice from overhead announced pre-boarding for the flight back to Domino.

“Fly time. Gotta go, boss.”

“Safe flight, Top Dog. Over and out.”

Jounouchi boarded the plane, took his place in first class. He buckled in, leaned back, and soon was fast asleep.

 

****

 

“Get up, you fucking loser. You disgust me.”

A hand fisted in his uniform shirt dragged him up to standing, though his legs could barely support his own trembling weight.

“What do you have to say for yourself, you little faggot?”

Yugi felt the tears well up in his eyes and he dipped his head to hide them.

“I-I just…what did I do this time?”

The faces above and around him sneered.

“You didn’t do shit, you useless fuck.”

“We just can’t stand lookin at ya.”

He felt his stomach drop as the punch hit the side of his head, and then he felt nothing at all.

Jounouchi watched him fall and hit the ground with a soft crack, the sound muted by the water that welled up from deep beneath. The other boys were gone, swept away in a wash of color, a hurt and angry red-purple haze that made Yugi’s swollen eye look an even darker, ugly shade of bruised.

Jounouchi felt the water around his ankles, cool clean teal, still and reflective as a mirror. He watched mutely as the rising water hit the level of Yugi’s lips, then one eye. It crept slowly up toward his nose.

He wanted to move, to lift Yugi’s head, to carry him up and away from the creep of the tide. He blinked, the slow motion slide of his eyelids almost audible in the threatening silence.

“Move, you idiot,” came a voice in his ear.

Move, he thought to himself.

“You want your little friend to live right? Get moving.”

If only he could move. The water was seeping into Yugi’s nostrils, creeping over his arms and legs. Soon it would swallow his torso whole and the rest of his face after. And then—

“Move, Jounouchi. Left leg, right leg. Come on.”

Left leg, he thought. He felt a creak in his bones as his weight shifted.

“Good. Keep going.”

The creak gave way to a groan and a shudder as he lurched forward. A ripple broke the mirror surface of the water, radiating out and out until it hit the tip of Yugi’s nose.

One blue-violet eye opened wide, and he jolted upright, sucking in big painful gulps of air.

Jounouchi woke with a start in his bed in Domino City, throat ragged and dry from fitful sobs. He reeled against the weight on his chest, fists flying up instinctively to bat away the presence there. A dull smack and a thud cut through the sound of his own beating heart. He reached for the light switch.

When his eyes adjusted, he saw Ryou Bakura laying prone on the floor.

 

****

 

“Brother Naaaaaaam!”

Malik took a bracing step back and prepared himself for the impact of many little bodies.

“Namir is here!”

“Brother Nam is back!”

“Namir, Namir!”

“Look at what I made for you, brother!”

He stumbled into the low brick building, twenty tiny hands all grabbing at his pants and the hem of his shirt.

“Wow, guys, I can’t believe how big you all got! It’s only been four months.”

He turned to the woman in a long white robe who stood in the corner, worrying an old stone rosary. She looked vaguely haunted, but Malik figured he would be too if he was in charge of a herd of very smart, very troubled children.

“Look at Dasha, she’s a whole head taller. What are you feeding them, Maria?”

The woman patted her veil, a nervous habit, and gave the blonde-haired young man a gentle smile.

“It’s thanks to you they eat so well,” she said. “You’d lose your head if I told you how much rice I go through in a week.”

“But she only gives us chocolate on Fridays!” piped a voice at Malik’s waist.

“And we eat all our vegetables, like you said!” came another from behind.

“Even when they’re sooooo bitter,” said a third from right in front of him.

“Well I’m glad your bodies are growing just as big and strong as your guild is,” Malik said with a smile. “You know how important Maria’s good food is for your growing minds.”

The children shuffled their feet and nodded their assent.

“Yes, brother Nam,” a few of them mumbled.

His throat grew tight when he thought about how they were when he found them: thin, hard-eyed, tight-lipped, prone to startling at the slightest motion. Some were child soldiers, others trafficked, some were simply war orphans. In the year they spent under the aegis of Neurons Outreach program, they had come a tremendous way back into the light.

Malik scanned their clever, eager eyes and grinned.

“I made the rounds in Links world last night. Everybody’s talking about the new powerhouse guild. Let’s hear it for the Young Lions,” he said.

The children erupted into yawps and whoops and pumped their tiny fists in the air.

“Lions! Lions!”

“We beat the Beastmaster three!”

“And the Magician’s Accolytes!”

“Lions forever!”

“And I heard the Magicians are teenagers, brother Nam! But we beat them all!”

“Our strategies are the best.”

“Our monsters are strong!”

“Are you proud of us, Namir?”

Malik crouched down and laid his hands on the heads of the shortest two he could reach. He made a point to look at all of them in turn.

“I am very, very proud of each and every one of you. But let me see, someone’s missing,” he said, scanning the room again.

The children hushed and traded troubled glances. Malik glanced at their ward, who had bowed her head to kiss the cross on the end of the rosary.

“This way, brother,” said a little girl as she curled her tiny fist around his index finger.

She pulled him into a small room, lit dimly by what light cut through the heavy curtains. The undersized body of a ten year old child lay curled on a cot. With the white shift on the sickly-pale skin, the folded, spindly limbs and the bulky Neurons headset, the child gave the impression of a newborn bird.

“Chala,” Malik said. “How you doing, kiddo?”

The figure stirred, lifted its laden head with some difficulty.

“Is it big brother?”

“It’s me,” Malik said as he carefully sat down on the edge of the cot.

“Oh good,” Chala said, sliding off the headset. Long, stringy locks of inky black hair spilled out and over her pale shoulders. “Go ahead then.”

Malik pulled a flashlight from his pocket and shined a light in the child’s milky-gray right eye, then into the piercing blue of the left.

“Still nothing?” he said, pulling up a holofield from the com unit on his wrist. He made some quick annotations, then synched the com with the nearby headset.

“Sight is nothing next to insight,” the child said softly. “I won’t need any of it much longer anyway.”

Malik winced.

“Chala, you can still beat this thing. You have to stay positive.You know it scares your brothers and sisters when you talk like that.”

“But not you, big brother,” Chala said. “Nothing scares a shadowwalker.”

Malik was relieved in that moment for the child’s blindness, as he betrayed himself with a look of open shock.

“Your imagination is as impressive as ever. Still having those dreams?”

The child folded her small white hands in her lap.

“Why do you hide from us?”

Malik skimmed through the data pulled from the headset on the narrow holofield.

“Chala, I come as often as I possibly can. You know you have cousins all over the world I need to tend to. Plus think of all the new brothers and sisters out there waiting to come join us, if we can only help them.”

“You run from country to country week by week. You give us all a different alias everywhere you go. Whatever you’re running from is long gone, you know.”

Malik’s head snapped up to meet the child’s sightless but piercing eyes.

“Sera told me,” the child said, struggling to prop herself upright against the wall. “She told me everything. We’re the same, you and I. You shouldn’t hide. You’re a light now, not a shadow. Master Shadi chose well.”

“What are you talking about?”

“I’m not afraid to die.”

“I’m going to get Maria,” Malik said. “It sounds like we need to fly in the doctor again.”

Chala wrapped her tiny fist around Malik’s wrist.

“Fearless unto death in the name of the king. That’s you. You are known to us, master Malik Ishtar.”

“Chala—”

“Please listen, master. Sera has something for you. A message.”

Chala’s small, tinny voice trembled with sentiment. There was a look of pinched desperation on her sallow face. Malik’s mouth ran dry and he swallowed heavily.

“I’m listening.”

“The prince has taken the cube to the next life to save the dreamweaver. He was tricked by Apep, who craves destruction. He wants to swallow the light for good. You must not let him.”

The child struggled to her knees, pulling herself up by the hand that clung to Malik’s wrist.

“You have to cross under. The thief will open the way, the walker will guide you. They will take you to the prince’s heart, but you must take them beyond.”

“The thief—Bakura is alive?”

“You must wake him before the blooming, master Malik, at any cost. If he falls, we all fall with him.”

Chala touched the ring on Malik’s pinky, the gold and moonstone gift from the Kaiba brothers.

“He’s clever, the prince. He hid a piece of the cube in your wards. You can speak with him that way. Gather your people, all of them, and cross under. The thief knows the way. The magician is waiting.”

“I don’t understand—”

“Be careful with the dreameater,” Chala said, voice dropping to a raspy whisper. “We’re counting on you.”

She lurched forward, hand groping blindly at Malik’s face. She palmed his temple, small fingers digging at the hairline. She pressed her dry and cracking lips to the center of his forehead.

Malik heard a low resonant hum in his ears, and for a moment the room was illuminated by a golden glow. The light faded with echoes of the hum, dimming down from the bright triangle between his eyes.

Chala went limp, then fell back with a soft whump onto the cot.

He heard the scampering of little feet behind him and he turned, eyes glazed.

The children had all gathered at the open door, pressing close and standing on their tiptoes to see into the dim room. They whispered back and forth and turned their clever eyes to Malik.

“Chala?”

Malik turned to the cot and found it empty.

The children filed slowly into the room. The tallest among them stepped forward, clutching his hands to his chest.

“Brother Namir,” he said.

“She’s gone,” Malik said, head heavy with her absence. His body was numb with shock, but his mind was blown open with new, strange knowledge. He could sense Chala’s goneness with the newly awakened part of himself.

“Don’t be sad,” the boy said. He tugged on Malik’s limp hand and pressed a card to it. “She wants to go with you.”

Malik slid the card into the deck case at his hip—looking at it just yet felt impossible.

He stumbled out of Chala’s sickroom and past Maria in the main area. The children followed him out into the bare dirt yard, into the sunlight. Malik was breathing heavy, dangerously close to hyperventilating, as he pulled his phone from his back pocket with trembling fingers.

He clicked Ryou’s name from his favorites and sagged against the wall of the little makeshift orphanage, praying with every ring that Ryou was awake.

“Hello?” came a distantly familiar voice.

“Who is this? Where is Ryou?”

There was a beat of tense silence on the end of the line.

“Malik? It’s Jounouchi. Listen, bud, Bakura’s here, but he can’t answer right now, he’s—”

“The fuck he can’t answer, you put him on or so fucking help me.”

A tiny hand patted his shoulder, and a separate pair of hands tugged softly on the hem of his shirt.

“I’m sorry. Excuse my language. Jounouchi, I need to talk to him.”

“All right, gimme a minute.”

Malik ground his teeth through the long moment of silence.

“Malik?”

Ryou sounded groggy or worse. Malik saw red for a minute, but the small hands on his back kept him focused and calm.

“Ryou, thank god. Listen, I’m flying out as soon as I can.”

“Where are you going?”

“To you, silly. Back to Domino.”

“Oh, good. I didn’t think I’d see you so soon.”

“Ryou,” Malik said. “I thought we said no secrets.”

Another beat of silence. Malik closed his eyes.

“Listen, I’m not mad, but if there’s something going on, you don’t have to handle it alone.”

He could feel Ryou thinking in the answering silence.

“You’re not mad?”

“No. But why are you with Jounouchi? Isn’t it like three o’clock in the morning there?”

Ryou sighed.

“It’s a long story. Send me your itinerary when you get it, I’ll tell you on the way back from the airport.”

“Okay,” Malik said. “Okay. Are you all right?”

“I’m all right. I’m glad you’re coming.”

Malik rubbed the bridge of his nose.

“Good. Be safe okay? I’ll see you soon.”

He slid the phone back into his pocket and slid down to the ground, collapsing against the brick. The children dropped to their knees around him.

“It’s okay, brother Nam.”

“We’ll be with you if you need us.”

“You can call us now, like Sera does!”

“Any time you need us, we’ll be here for you.”

“You gave us so much. It’s our turn now.”

“We love you, big brother.”

“It’s gonna be okay, you know!”

Malik blinked back tears and opened his arms wide. Ten little bodies all clamored to hug him.

He felt their gratitude and affection flow into him through a new sense, poured over his awareness from above. He stored the warm feeling in a corner of his mind, sure he would need it in the coming days.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the long pause, been mega nuts in real life land. Your comments keep me going. Thanks for reading <3 <3 <3


	23. Chapter 23

 

Malik got off the plane feeling washed out and hollow. It had been twenty long hours since he last slept. Sleep itself seemed distant and strange, the custom of a foreign culture. A dull ache had settled in the center of his forehead on the way from São Paulo International, staying low and constant until the exact moment he laid eyes on his Domino welcome party outside the arrivals gate.

“Yo, Malik!”

Malik took the scene in flashes. Amber brown eyes, faux-friendly and looking nearly as tired as his own under shaggy blonde hair, even messier than usual. The ugly blue-purple welt on Jounouchi’s cheek brought out the golden tones in his eyes. Hands on his pockets, but visibly ragged around the knuckles when he took one out to jerk a thumb behind him.

“I’m parked right over here, buddy.”

Jounouchi started off toward the pick-up area and Malik, too tired to protest, followed. He was led to a restored Jeep Wagoneer, done up in matte black with red-stained wood paneling. Malik hiked his backpack up and eyed Jounouchi with some irritation—and then, glancing at the other man’s split lip and fresh black eye, with mounting worry.

“Where’s Ryou?”

“After you,” Jounouchi primly opened the passenger door for Malik and walked around to the driver’s side, dodging eye contact the whole time.

“Where is Ryou?” Malik said again as Jounouchi slid into the driver’s seat.

“He’s at my house,” Jounouchi said as he turned over the noisy engine.

Malik grabbed Jounouchi’s wrist as his hand moved for the E brake. He could feel the taller man’s pulse jump under the thin skin.

“Why is he at your house? Why isn’t he here?”

“Okay, listen,” Jounouchi said, finally meeting Malik’s eyes. Malik could read tension there, a desperation darkening the amber tones to brown. “It’s complicated. And you’re not gonna believe me anyways, so do ya have it in you to just wait until we get to my spot? Hear me out then, I promise I’ll tell ya everything.”

Malik considered the tense pleading in the warm brown eyes. He noticed at the intimate distance a forgotten crust of blood around Jounouchi’s nose.

“Is he okay?”

Jounouchi flinched.

“I think so, man. I don’t really know, but I think so.”

Malik counted back from ten, reminded himself to breathe. He made it to five before he snapped,

“He’s tough. And—we got word that he’s fine, for now.”

“I’ll wait. But I don’t like this.”

“Neither do I, man,” Jounouchi mumbled. “Neither do I.”

Malik let Jounouchi’s wrist go, and they slowly pulled out of the terminal.

Malik breathed deep and slow as the Jeep churned down the freeway toward central Domino. His anger flared in waves, hot an ugly, cut under by a dark fear, but he closed his eyes against it, imagining the children—the Prana—and their bright, calm eyes.

_It’s okay brother we can feel him he’s bright he’s bright we know it’s all right don’t worry about him we can see his shadow he has time we have time to find him brother._

By the time they pulled into Jounouchi’s apartment complex, he was centered and calm.

Jounouchi led them up the stairs slowly, tension in the line of his neck.

“Open mind, buddy, when we get in. You’re not gonna like what you see, but believe me, you’re gonna be glad we did what we did.”

“What are you talking about?”

“Just,” Jounouchi turned around and looked him dead in the eye, eyes wide and a little sad and tinged with concern, with a distant and ambivalent compassion. He placed his broad, warm hands on Malik’s shoulders and squeezed gently. “Just, listen, I know we don’t really get each other. We don’t really get along but. I don’t really get you, I. I don’t even get him most of the time, if I’m being honest. But he’s one of us. You too, y’know.”

Malik searched Jounouchi’s face. He watched as Jounouchi chewed his split, swollen lip.

“I just need you to know, we’re on your side. We’re on his side. Okay?”

“Okay. Okay.”

Malik breathed slowly in and out through his nose and flashed Jounouchi his most beatific smile. Jounouchi answered it with a weak grimace and turned, and edged the door open.

“We’re home, guys.”

Rage. Fury, hot and cutting, spiked in Malik’s throat when he saw Ryou slumped on the floor, flanked on either side by Honda and Otogi, standing rigid like toy soldiers. There was a long splotch of blood down the front of his shirt, and his head was bowed low between his bound hands. Malik bit the inside of his cheek when he saw that the zip ties binding Ryou’s wrists were tight enough to chafe, the delicate pale skin rubbed red and raw.

“Ryou,” he breathed, balled fists shaking at his sides.

Ryou tipped his white-haired head up from where it hung between his knees, and the fire in Malik’s blood fizzled out into cool nothingness. The momentary jackhammer slam of his own heart was eclipsed by a high ringing in his ears. He staggered backwards like he’d been hit with an aftershock—it felt like a bomb had gone off in his chest.

“Yo.”

Malik gaped slack-jawed at the bruised and bloody face that greeted him. His eyes darted around the room, to Honda’s downcast eyes and tense lean, Otogi’s clenched jaw, Jounouchi’s fatigue and resignation.

“Close your mouth, Ishtar, you look like a Sumerian whore.”

“You,” Malik hissed, eyes wide with shock.

“Look at you. I would say it’s good to see you too, you handsome goatfucker, but I’m not really feeling the love after our last goodbye.”

Bakura grinned, toothy and bright with blood, the red of it shocking against his pale skin and hair. He pinned Malik with bright violet eyes, so like his own, so foreign in Ryou’s pale face.

“You.” Malik said, feeling his shoulders bunch up toward his ears.

“Me. You. Us,” Bakura said, turning to spit blood on the ground. Honda jumped to the side, face shocked and disgusted. “Come in, come in. Hospitality sucks, but what can you expect from these losers, right?”

“Shut up, you creep,” Jounouchi said, cracking his knuckles.

Bakura threw his head back and laughed and the sound filled the room like smoke. Malik felt the ringing in his ears intensify, and a dark feeling welled up behind his eyes.

_Don’t hurt him brother we’re with you we don’t need to do that any longer you’ll only make him more powerful do you want to make him more powerful brother we learned this already don’t you remember shh he doesn’t remember brother Diva we need to show him it’s all right he knows this already we just need to remind him shh._

“Take off your coat, tomb keeper. Stay a while. I’ve got a hell of a story to tell.”

 

***

 

Isono walked quickly through the wide glass breezeway. He catalogued the distance in sound, in the change in the sharp click of his heels as it echoed off the rows of statues and retired tech that lined the long hall. The black coffee in his right hand was beginning to burn through the thin paper cup. The cappuccino in his left was pleasantly warm. It made him think of the Kaiba brothers—it was their typical order after all—and how like them their habits were, their every minute preference. Mokuba, light and airy and comforting, even in his own distress. Seto, dark and above all, strong.

“Is he in yet?” he said to the secretary at the desk in front of Seto’s office. She must have just gotten in herself; she was just slipping on a pair of smart black heels, tucking the sensible sneakers into her purse.

“From what I can tell, sir, he never left.”

Isono considered giving the black coffee to the secretary. He wasn’t much for coffee, not since university, and that was ages ago. But something about the bitter brew soothed the bizarre loneliness he kept tucked in the back of his mind.

“Mr. Kaiba,” the secretary said to the intercom. “Mr. Isono is here.”

The emptiness Isono felt in Seto’s absence took him by surprise, and when he put a name to it it brought a sad smile to his face. It wasn’t quite grief yet. He couldn’t let it bloom dark and heavy in his chest, not before they knew for sure. Not before Mokuba accepted it.

“He’ll see you now,” the secretary said, dipping her head.

“Mr. Mokuba,” Isono said, edging the heavy door open with his shoulder.

“Morning, Isono.”

Mokuba was seated, composed, small but powerful in the oversized desk chair. His suit was fresh, his dark hair was tamed and freshly trimmed—shorter than usual, just the hint of length at the back of his neck. There were several file folders stacked neatly in front of him, and three holofields to his left flashed world news, stocks, trending topics from the KC crystal cloud game network.

“Did you sleep?”

“Had to do projections on the Links international deployment,” Mokuba said, blue eyes made bluer by the glow of the holofields as he scanned the quick-moving marquees. “Regional licensing is a nightmare.”

“Mokuba,” Isono said with a tone that made Mokuba flinch and finally, finally lift his tired gray-blue eyes to Isono’s.

“I have time between the broker and our 3pm with Industrial Illusions’ mobile games team.”

Isono scanned the day’s schedule on his wrist com. It was a thirty minute break.

“They want him to do a press conference,” Mokuba said, voice flat and hoarse from fatigue. “The board, they don’t buy the story about a research expedition. Something about consumer confidence and the rumor mill and. They say it makes us look weak that he—that he’s not here for this launch. But I think that reporter from Wired, I think he’s onto us, I don’t think we can use the Solid Vision AI again—”

“You could do it,” Isono said. “Mokuba. You could be the face of the company.”

Mokuba grit his teeth, anger curling his lip and flaring his nostrils. It smacked of Seto, though the pinch around Mokuba’s large eyes made him look more desperate than menacing.

“You have plenty of experience.”

“That’s not the problem,” Mokuba said, balling his fist. “I just can’t.”

“It’s been nine months,” Isono said. “The emergency clause says that after nine months—”

“I know what it says,” Mokuba cut in, low and clipped. He dipped his head, and what remained of his shaggy bangs obscured his eyes.

“I know what it says. The clause is wrong. He could still come back.”

Isono inched up, freezing the instinct to walk around the desk and gather up Mokuba’s trembling body in a fierce hug. He stared at the smooth frosted glass of the desk instead, where the light from the holofields cast Mokuba’s falling tears in neon.

“Mr. Kaiba, duelist services says there’s a Mr. Jounouchi with an urgent matter,” came the soft voice from the intercom.

Mokuba stood. He scrubbed at his eyes with the back of his hands.

“Make him an appointment for 2:30.”

There was a beat of silence in which Isono took a long sip of lukewarm coffee. He felt the same mix of incredulity and pride he often felt when following Seto’s outrageous schedule.

“He says it’s urgent, Mr. Kaiba. Security has detained Mr. Jounouchi and four of his associates in staff lobby B.”

Mokuba swept one of the holofields in front of him, pinching it to enlarge it. He tapped a rapid set of commands, and security footage from the lobby appeared on the screen. He paled.

“Seahorse to Cyclops,” he said into his cufflink. “I need a ten degree rotation on camera four in staff lobby B.”

“Roger, Mr. Kaiba,” came a tinny voice in reply.

Mokuba pinched out the panel with camera four’s feed. The camera panned up a pair of long legs, hands shoved into the center pocket of a striped hoodie, then shaggy wefts of white hair. When the camera reached the grim smiling face, Mokuba let out a shaky gasp.

“Reschedule my morning meetings,” he said into the console. “And my afternoon meetings. Send Industrial Illusions to Kaibaland, gold ticket.”

“The whole team, Mr. Kaiba?”

“Have security bring the group to the elevator to sublab 6,” he said, slipping his jacket on. “I want two extra details and discretion measures taken on the entire floor.”

“Yes, Mr. Kaiba.”

Isono stood, checking the chamber on the handgun in his chest holster. Mokuba straightened his tie, then neatly buttoned his crisp white jacket.

“The locks were calibrated by your brother,” Isono said as he tucked the gun away. “They’re set to his abilities.”

“I know,” Mokuba said, eyes flashing. “I’ll just have to step up to meet them.”

 

***

 

Rishid scanned the row of pastries sitting like jewels, like dewy brooches cast in resin and enamel, too perfect to be food. After so many years underground, the decadence of a simple croissant was sometimes overwhelming. But Isis never tired of sweets, and the thought of the reverent smile she wore when she ate made him want to buy the whole bakery. He took it upon himself to assume their guest was similarly inclined.

“I’ll take two apricot, two mixed berry, and a few of the macarons, please.”

The old woman behind the counter carefully plucked each helping with a set of tongs, placing them in a small cardboard box. Her plump fingers tied the box with thin red and white string, a neat little bow that she tapped with a long-clawed finger. She turned to look at Rishid, box outstretched in her hands.

“Here you go, sir. That will be sixteen euro.”

Her eyes were snake yellow with bright green irises. The slit pupils glowed from within, twinkling mad. Rishid broke out into a cold sweat. He fumbled in his pocket for the money. She blinked owlishly, once, twice, and then fixed him with concerned, earth-brown eyes.

“Right. Thank you.”

He slid the money across the counter and turned, not waiting for change.

He took a deep breath. Maybe it was the ceaseless touring. The pressure to continue writing. The shock of freedom, financial and otherwise. He felt he’d become increasingly unhinged since the repeat of Battle City.

He looked out over the palazzo, full of tourists with their cameras and locals leaning over the fountain in the mid-day sun smoking cigarettes. He watched a group of Romani children play with a stray dog. He spotted Mai’s mane of curly blonde hair at a table in the distance and sighed.

“Rishid!” Mai chirped, raising a manicured hand.

He took a seat between Mai and Isis and slid the box onto the table. He sat back in the chair, arms folded, eyes closed. They were used to his pensive, meditative moods. He wouldn’t burden them with his anxiety.

“So after the Schroeder cup, I went to Toronto for the North American semi-annual. And you wouldn’t believe who tried to sweep me off my feet,” she said, disdain in the curl of her red red lips.

“Again?” Isis said, glancing down at the bakery box. “Men! They’re all the same,” she said. She laid a hand on Rishid’s bicep. He gave her a long-suffering smile. “Not you, just.”

“The rest of them,” Mai said, throwing up her hands. “Well, most of the rest of them.”

Isis shifted her cup of tea aside and gently tugged at the strings on the box.

“And the KC invitational? I hear they’re debuting a new product. Malik has high hopes for this one.”

“They want me to duel Jounouchi,” Mai said, absently touching the harpy pendant that hung between her breasts. “For the flagship launch.”

“And what do you want?” Isis said, sitting back in her chair. Her deep blue eyes were clear and focused, and Mai felt the color rise on her cheeks at the scrutiny. It felt almost pointless to answer—something about Isis seemed always to know, anyway.

Mai let her eyes drift to the delicate pendant that sat in the hollow of Isis’ collarbones, at the base of that slim, olive brown neck. She was a startlingly beautiful woman.

“I—”

Warm brown bled blue-green, and Isis’ long black hair that hung straight and shining over her shoulders went cobalt and flat. The ghostly image of wings hovered around her slim form. Mai swallowed heavily, looking down at her own hands—but saw only grotesque, enlarged talons, overlarge and scaled, long purple feathers jutting out from the heel of her hand.

“Mai,” Rishid said, eyes wide and fearful.

“What’s wrong,” Isis said, brows drawn. She placed a hand on Mai’s shoulder. Rishid laid his broad palm on the back of her neck. Mai looked up into Isis’ face, and the hovering overlay of Spiria dissipated, leaving only Isis behind.

“God,” she said, slumping back in her chair. “I don’t know. I must be overworked or something.”

A little Roma girl in embroidered skirts with bands of bright cotton braided in her hair skipped up to their table. Mai smoothed down her hair, leaning into Rishid’s comforting touch.

“Hello,”

“Why hello,” Isis said. She smiled warmly at the girl. “Would you like something to eat,” she said, offering the cardboard box.

“You’re the eyes of the king,” the girl said with an awed smile. Isis dropped the box, the pastries spilling out onto the ground. “Master Shadi was right, you’re even prettier than the stories say.”

“Who are you?” Rishid said, leaning forward.

The little girl’s wild black hair bled white, and the speckled olive green of her eyes went electric blue.

“I have a message,” she said, dancing from foot to foot, the sound of bells tinkling, echoing as though from a distant hall. “For all of you.”

Mai sat ramrod straight, trembling. She reached instinctively for the pendant around her neck.

“The time has come. The barriers between worlds are crumbling. He needs you, now more than ever. You must go.”

“We must go where?” Rishid said.

“To Kaibaland,” the girl said, laughing, and her laugh was more twinkling bells. “Where the barrier is thinnest. He’s waiting for you there.”

 

***

 

 

It took them three trips in the one man service elevator to get to the long hallthat led to Seto’s private lab. Each trip was achingly long, and Malik guessed the descent from the middle of Kaiba tower to the sub-basement labs must have exceeded the above-ground height of the tower itself. Honda and Otogi went first, then Jounouchi and Mokuba, and Malik, at last, ushered Bakura in with a firm grip on his elbow. The armed guards that accompanied them to that point gave him a grim nod as the elevator doors closed on the two tense young men.

They were pressed tight together, Bakura’s soft white hair pinched between his shoulders and Malik’s lightly heaving chest. The scent of him in the tight elevator was thick, coconut shampoo and the metallic-sour smell of dried blood, the wood cedar scent of the deodorant he used, the smell of fear and exertion underneath. Malik wanted the comfort of leaning in, of Ryou’s automatic bend, the way he would expose his pale neck when Malik tucked behind him. But this wasn’t Ryou here with him.

“I know what you’re thinking,” Bakura said, shifting so he could fix Malik with one of his keen violet eyes.

“You don’t know anything about me,” Malik hissed, gripping Bakura’s elbow like a vice.

“I know everything about you, my beloved grandson. The thing about dying is you get to see the world from above. Above history itself.”

Malik stilled, heart thumping in his chest.

“I’m not the person I was before,” Bakura said, voice colored by something that was almost remorse. “I’ve had time—eons—to think things over. Clearly for once, without Zorc whispering sweet nothings in my ear.”

“You’re different now,” Malik said, half questioning.

“I’d say that’s a good thing, wouldn’t you?”

There was something familiar here. The thing that had drawn him all those years ago to work with the thief, this chaotic, wild spirit whose motivations Malik could only vaguely understand. They shared a hurt somehow, a strange sort of pain that bonded them. Alone, exiled, orphaned, shunned, other, angry, lonely, sad—

“Why are you here?”

“Because he needed me,” Bakura said, low, voice rasped by some deep emotion. Malik could feel him draw inward with—was it shame? Regret?

“He has me,” Malik said, small and tired.

“He has a lot of needs,” Bakura said. “More than you could satisfy in a few short years. It’s going to take him a long, long time to fulfill them all. Till he’s ready to really heal.”

“It’s your fault, you know,” Malik said through his teeth.

“I know,” Bakura said. “I won’t say it isn’t my fault, because it is. I was Zorc. But I was still me. I take responsibility for that.”

“Then why are you here? To torture him some more?”

Bakura straightened, and the motion pressed the length of their bodies together. He seemed taller somehow, taller than Ryou. Thicker and, Malik realized with a jolt of shock, calmer. Steadier somehow, stronger. He wrenched his arm out of Malik’s grip and turned in the tight space of the elevator, the intensity of his violet gaze pinning Malik with a shocking solidity. The curl of his lip as he spoke, the grimace and the overlong dogteeth, crooked like Ryou’s but longer, more feral; the upturned fury in the eyes, the fear behind it, it was so far from everything Malik knew about Ryou that for that moment he forgot entirely that Bakura was speaking to him through a borrowed body.

“I’ve died a thousand times over, night after torturous night for three thousand years. I lived those moments unendingly, trapped in that cursed ring, trapped with the howling souls of all my friends and family. I heard the tortured screams of everyone who ever meant anything to me. Endless, it was endless. And I felt Zorc’s rage and hunger, and I saw the violence we did. I saw the bodies and the blood, I could smell them, I could taste them in the back of my throat. Three thousand years, I felt that, trapped in the shadows. And then he came along.”

Malik pressed back against the wall of the elevator, and Bakura followed, crowding him in, eyes blazing.

“That part of me that wasn’t Zorc—this part of me here, it was like being doused in cool water when he came along. He eroded my hatred year after year, until I started to feel…fond of him, protective even.”

Bakura swallowed, rolling his shoulders, though he winced when it tugged on his tightly bound hands.

“I can trade my very soul, exchange that eternity of torture for total obliteration, if I can just save him from the darkness I planted there. I’ll cease to exist. Do you have any idea what that means?”

The elevator slowed almost imperceptibly to a stop. With a soft chime, the doors slid opened. Jounouchi took one look at Bakura’s looming form and jerked him harshly out of the elevator.

“You good?” he said to Malik as Honda took up Bakura’s other arm.

“I’m fine,” Malik said. “Let him go.”

“ _Neural prints registered,_ ” came a synthesized voice from the ceiling. _“Welcome, Mr. Malik Ishtar. Welcome, Mr. Aqefyah Baqaru.”_

Bakura chuckled darkly. Jounouchi, Malik, Honda and Otogi shared looks of shock.

“Leave it to that fucking priest to unearth my real name,” he said.

“Quiet,” Mokuba clipped. “I need to focus.”

The youngest Kaiba was surrounded in holofields. His quick fingers swept from one to the next to the next, solving complex math and programming problems, making moves on digitized chess boards, answering personal questions about the Kaiba’s history before Gozaburo. The timers ticked down on each screen, flashing yellow, then orange, then red. His furious blue eyes scanned back and forth, and he punched his final answer in the last holofield with a slam of his fist.

 _“Baseline competency achieved_ ,” came the voice from the ceiling. “ _Welcome to the game room, Mr. Kaiba._ ”

Mokuba dropped to one knee, panting, sweat pooling in the hollow of his throat. Something squeezed tight in his chest and he felt the salt prick of tears in the corners of his eyes.

Jounouchi stepped up next to him and offered his open hand.

“Good job, kiddo,” he said. “Guess your bro’s not the only genius in town.”

Mokuba took Jounouchi’s hand in his own sweat-slicked one and stood up. He straightened his tie as he looked at the rag-tag group behind him.

“Okay. Are you ready?”

 

 

***

 

The firelight danced over Atem’s golden skin, slipping bright over the wrinkles in his brow, the tight press of his lips. The endless field of dark around them seemed to dance and swirl, buoyed by a cold wind. They were alone in the column of light cast by the dwindling fire, ensconced by the shadows. Mahad and his chanting, the ragged nightmare-twitch and labored breath of Yugi’s writhing, tortured form had slowly disappeared behind the smoke.

Seto stood, once more in his cowl and his tunic, arm cool and exposed to the bite of the wind where a duel disk should have been. It had the feel of a shadow duel drained of malice, an aching nothingness where violence should have been.

The wind picked up the pharaoh’s long purple cape. It lifted the wavy blonde hair that framed his face. His eyes, sharp and penetrating, spun with challenge.

“This could be our last chance,” he said, stepping forward until his bare feet touch the ring of rocks around the flames.

“Our last chance at what,” Seto said, mirroring the pharaoh until only the light of the fire separated them. If not for the heat, he could reach out and touchAtem’s face.

Atem smiled that coy smile that reeked of secret knowledge, of tricks and schemes, of a playfulness that made Seto feel equal parts scared and enraged and deeply, viscerally excited.

Seto felt a thrumming low in his body, and then a high electric whine pierced the dark. Even the pharaoh winced.

“You saved the cube,” Atem said, smile suddenly touched by sadness.

“Just a shard,” Seto said, reaching into the pocket of his kilt. He took out a jagged piece of gold, streaked and dotted with circuitry. The channels glowed blue, pulsing as though with a heartbeat.

“Mokuba,” he said, pride swelling in his chest.

“Sooner than I thought,” Atem said, a fond smile on his face as he gazed at the glowing shard. He turned his eyes back to Seto’s.

“Well then. We should have just enough time to settle this, Kaiba.”

Kaiba pocketed the shard and lifted his chin. There was a brokenness to the pharaoh’s wry smile, though the eyes and the posture radiated confidence and strength.

“At last,” Kaiba said, taking a defensive posture. He lifted his bare arm. Gold light sparked around the lean-muscled length, coalescing into solidity and heft.

“At last,” Atem said.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We’re baaaack, baby. 
> 
> All of your thoughtful comments and kudos really pushed me to search myself for the best I can possibly give this story. Thank you so much for joining me on this ride. I’ve finally got it mapped out to the end—it took me some time, but I think I’m ready! Thanks again for your support, I definitely would not be here without you.


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